The Great War League
by Flipfrog
Summary: New terrors are unleashed on the Western Front. M assembles an emergency League to deal with it: a pilot, a jungle lord, an airship captain, a cat burglar, an inventor and what! an insect man. Battles will erupt in the sky and rip the Earth asunder at the front-lines before the evil is traced to an island where science itself has gone mad. The Twilight Heroes lurk in the shadows.
1. Chapter 1

**The Great War League**

 **Chapter** **1**

The Earth heaved as the war machines sent their destructive force into its crust. Shell after shell blasted with thunderous roaring, hurling massive dark waves of dirt, mud, wood, wire and human tissue into the air. This erupted matter would shower down on the soldiers waiting in the shallow trenches for their turn to attack.

Paul Baumer was one of the many soldiers blocking his ears, unable to endure the terrible, splitting sound of the ironclad monstrosities blasting the enemy to oblivion. The war had cost him all his friends and sunk him into a deep depression; now science was producing these war machines and other innovations to extend The Great War. A new era of mass killing had started; now his sadness will amplify and spread throughout the warring countries.

Germany's new war machines were sort of like tanks; though a complex system of tracks had made these vehicles much more maneuverable than anything the British or French produced. These iron monstrosities could roll across no man's land easily and swiftly; maneuvering over and around shell holes, ditches and bogs while busting through barbed wire defences.

The enemy could almost suddenly find themselves within range of these machines deadly arsenal. The turret was the same size as any other tank but the military science division had imbued it with over twice the firepower of its allied counterparts; thus making it a versatile piece of mobile artillery. Mortar shells were also fired from the vehicles' top with adjustable force; quite handy for clearing enemy trenches. A machine gun also spat death from a slit in the iron chassis.

Enemy artillery would occasionally score a hit on these vehicles crippling them and grenades thrown from the trenches did their share of the damage. It was firm policy to never let these new weapons fall into enemy hands, lest they be copied and turned against German forces.

Paul looked at his fellow soldiers to see if they expected to be ordered into the fray, to take the enemy trenches or at least to secure the crippled war machines. Tjaden gave him a brief return look then turned to Ernst Birkholz for private discussion. Virtually the only one of Paul's buddies to survive the war so far, Tjaden had drifted away to become more Ernst's friend; there was no current rapport between him and Paul.

Alfred Matzerath seemed to be eager to get in and seize the ground, since the enemy would have been softened by the war machines. Andreas Kragler often turned his head back towards the Fatherland, his mind was clearly on going home. Hans Hubermann had a glum dreary look on his face, he did not like this escalation of the war any more than Paul. Playing an accordion was Hans' way of coping with the negativity this conflict brought; but that would be useless amidst this thunderous barrage.

When the war machines went silent in unison, apart from sporadic machine gun firing, Captain Martin Hessler moved down the trench. Everyone was expecting the whistle signal to attack but he ordered all to stand down.

"We have something special for the enemy." He said.

Hessler looked at an operative bearing a peculiar whistle and received a nod that meant full readiness. Picking up his trench wire telephone the proud German officer gave the orders to his secondary artillery. What ensued was a mortar barrage that hit the area just short of the enemy trench, but not with explosive shells, but thick red gas, that created an opaque curtain of red mist in front of the trench.

Next Captain Hessler gave a hand signal to the operative who blew his whistle. Neither Paul nor the others could hear any noise. All present, including the whistle blower ducked down into the trenches.

Grunting and growling noises quickly filled the area. Paul realised what was happening, something big he had heard of only through rumours; a quick peek over the trench gave horrid confirmation of that hearsay. The war machines were only one innovation changing Germany's fortunes; the other was masses of synthetic humanoid soldiers rushing the enemy. "Homunculi" they were called and the sight of them was horrible; they were misshapen freaks, human only in that they had two arms and two legs, their facial organs were hideously jumbled though the mouth was prominent in each one with gashing sharp jaws. White hair seemed to be placed randomly on their bodies and not always on the scalp; the skin was as pale as chalk. They moved fast but their gait and steps were more apelike than human.

Paul and any other peekers bobbed down into trench as the homunculi jumped over into no man's land and rushed towards the red gas curtain, some stopped to gloat at the German soldiers but in accordance with firm programming, left them alone to attack the enemy.

"They are such ugly bastards." Uttered Andreas.

"They are yours and Germany's salvation." Said Hessler.

Everyone rushed to look over the top after the last homunculus passed; they bypassed the war machines, ran into the red gas curtain and jumped into the enemy trench. The same was happening a mile to the left and right, the homunculi attacked by the thousands. Paul heard the screams of those soldiers unfortunate to be in the trench.

Modest breezes cleared the gas curtain. The whistle blower followed a signal from Hessler to rush within proximity of the attacked position then blow his apparently silent instrument again. The homonculi then climbed out of that trench and rushed towards the next enemy emplacement.

Captain Hessler gave the order for all soldiers to take the first trench. Alfred was first up and over, Paul and the others followed. There was no resistance while crossing No Man's Land, their work seemed already done. Hundreds of soldiers crossed over encountering next to no resistance.

Paul and his fellow troops jumped into the pre-taken trench. It had been damaged by the constant pounding from war machines; its retaining walls reduced to splinters and its depth reduced by half from shifting and showering dirt. What Paul found so shocking though was the state of the slain enemy soldiers. Some had their limbs ripped off, others had multiple chunks of flesh torn from their bodies and there was those who were left a pile of skin blood and bones as if they were picked up and smashed against the ground. The homunculi clearly took no prisoners.

A search of all dorms and alcoves ensued. It was during this activity that a hidden enemy soldier fired his rifle into Alfred Matzerath when he opened the trench lavatory door to inspect it. A panicked fusilier bolted out of the alcove to sprint down the trench, he ran into Tjaden who neatly drove his bayonet into the runner. The sheer panic on the bolter's face told everyone that he had seen the carnage wrought by the homunculi and hid in abject fear.

Alfred Matzerath was not hurt bad, the bullet nicked his side; he would have to make his way to the field hospital though. Andreas Kragler helped the wounded soldier out of the trench to meet with the stretcher bearers.

From here Paul could see the next battle. A homunculus seized an enemy and sunk those prominent jaws into his throat biting out several pounds of skin and organs. Another enemy was overpowered by one of the horrors, belted to the ground and then had his shirt and flesh ripped from his torso. One allied soldier had three of the monsters on him, he screamed as each grabbed a limb and bodily tore him apart.

Several German soldiers who observed this massacre dropped to the trench floor and vomited out the meagre contents of their stomachs, others just turned away in shocked disbelief. Paul sunk his head to the ground and felt his depression intensify.

Bullets were fired into the homunculi but very few were killed. They were formed in biological culture vats, so the location of their crucial organs was random. One could take a bullet in the chest but would still pounce on the rifleman and slay him gaudily, then several of those in the area without any compromise to his movements. Some even took head shots and continued to attack. A mounted machine gun pumped a volley into a homunculus' chest, the monster survived long enough to grab the fusilier and break his neck.

Some homonculi did fall. A lucky shot or bayonet stab would hit them in an unlikely spot like a shoulder, hip or limb and destroy a randomly placed crucial organ. In most cases though, a shot would be ineffective and gunman would be set upon by his savage target. Those who sunk a bayonet into a homunculus would, in most cases, have the rifle knocked aside with a fierce swipe; whether the blade was still in the antagonists torso or not; a gory and quick reprisal would be exacted on the soldier.

The ground became saturated in blood.

Enemy sniper fire from a hill ahead began to rain down on the victorious homunculi. They took the shots but expressed only irritation at the bullet wounds they were taking; only a few were slain by the storm of bullets.

Captain Martin Hessler briefly considered sending the monsters after the snipers but ordered the functioning war machines forward. The homunculi's work was done, Hessler told the whistle man to recall them; once the signal was given they moved back, bound across the trenches despite whatever wounds they were carrying and went to the area from which they came.

A large backpack was adorned by Hessler's adjutant, when he turned his back on the officer it allowed Hessler to use it. This was a new wireless communicator; a set of earphones, a microphone, an antenna; all allowed Hessler to give orders to each war machine crew simultaneously. They had just arrived after sappers had employed makeshift bridges to get them over the trenches. Hessler relayed his coded orders.

A mighty barrage of turret fire ensued. Paul and other soldiers blocked their ears and peeked over the trench to view the destruction. It was the hill that the snipers were firing from, it had become the war machines' anvil. Much of the earth that constituted the hill was hurled up into the air along with weapons and body parts of those who bore them. Dirt rained into the trench along with torn human flesh. A severed arm landed a few feet from Paul.

This thunderous hammering lasted for about twenty minutes before Hessler gave the order to desist. The silence was short lived; the Captain ordered the soldiers to take the ground the homunculi cleared. Paul, Tjaden, Ernst, Hans, Andreas and all other soldiers climbed out of the trench and ran to the designated ground.

There wasn't an enemy soldier left alive to fight, the homunculi had done their work for them; the carnage was so gory, it brought more revulsion than a sense of victory. That which was done to the unfortunate soldiers seemed to violate the rules of war. A few homunculi were left behind, being too wounded to follow the recall. No humanitarian aid was offered to them; no one dared go near them; they had standing orders not to help them anyway. The whistle blower arrived on the scene, he blew a particular tune through his instrument and the wounded monsters lulled into a peaceful sleep.

"How come we can't hear that?" Demanded Hans Hubermann.

"This sound is very different from that which your accordion makes, it has been designed to be inaudible to human ears." Explained the whistle blower. "The homunculi ears are different. They hear it and are programmed to act in accordance with select tunes."

"But if you can't hear it, how can you play select tunes?"

"My ears have been scientifically augmented." The whistle blower began to show everyone his ear implant until Captain Hessler cut in and demanded everyone to man the newly taken trench.

"You have work to do I believe?" He said to the whistle blower.

As the soldiers took their places in the trench, the whistle blower took out a syringe and injected each remaining homunculi. Paul then realised why neither the medics nor stretcher bearers helped the synthetic horrors. They were abundant and expendable; the injections not only terminated them but initiated a process of slow bodily decomposition. Only those, among the recalled, with minor wounds are given any treatment.

Captain Hessler used the cable phone to contact Field HQ. He reported success on current military objectives and a bouyant demeanor showed he liked what he was being told in turn. A request to extend his gains by taking the hill ahead was forwarded but left for HQ to decide.

The proud officer put down the phone and addressed his men.

"This is a proud moment for us. All military objectives have been achieved; enemy artillery has been seized, trenches taken, defences smashed. Soon we will take towns, railways, channel ports and then Paris. After France many other countries will fall to this newly endowed army. This is only the beginning of our triumph. The scientists Germany has employed have provided us with the means to turn the war in our favour and extend it into a new era of military conquest. The Kaiser's war machines; our war machines will roll across Europe and forever change the maps into areas of conquest."

Paul noted that he didn't mention the homunculi, he clearly favoured the war machines as the providers of this new era.

"For now we hold here until we get orders to take that hill." He saluted then observed all soldiers returning the gesture.

Tjaden approached Paul. "Keep your head down Paul. There may be surviving snipers in that hill."

Paul looked at his former friend but was unable to respond; the thought of this war extending to what sounded like an eternity and in the horrible fashion he had just witnessed made his worsening depression unmanageable. He turned away. Tjaden went back to Ernst's side.

Twisted by war, that's what everything was. Through his saddened delirium, Paul could not make out a thing that wasn't mangled by the war; the hill, the trees, the earth and the bodies. Every sight made him more miserable; except that butterfly. The fluttering insect was bright blue with patches of orange and yellow. It landed just outside the trench; Paul knew then how to put his depression aside, he needed to focus on the beautiful creature and nothing else. He had to get closer. Paul climbed out of the trench and approached the butterfly slowly on his hands and knees; when he got close, the creature spread its wings and those magnificent colors dominated Paul's senses; he could now shut out all other visions and imagine himself in a beautiful land. His face smiled, it was his first in a long time, he reached out to touch the butterfly, the ecstasy of this moment was heavenly; not even the sound and feeling of a sniper's bullet tearing through his chest could turn him away. No, this was good; now this exquisite moment will last for ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Beyond the secret door in Whitehall were the steps down to a classified basement. Richard Hannay began his flight down those stairs while sub-consciously counting each step; a habit that began in the days leading up to The Great War. There were far more than thirty nine. A large oak door with a brass handle was at the bottom.

The space beyond was was a large room with an ornate lounge, conference table and filing cabinets. Paintings and photographs hung on the walls along with electric lamps. Historical objects, too many to name, decorated the scene; they either sat on pedestals, appeared in glass casings or stood proud on the many mantle pieces.

Although the furniture was available for either casual discussion in the lounge or a serious meeting over the conference table, the two men already present were making use of neither. They were standing while discussing , if not arguing.

One was Mycroft Holmes or M as he was known to those in the espionage community. Brandy, cigars and lazy afternoons in the Diogenes Club had taken their toll on his physique, he was quite portly and Richard wondered how he was going to manage the stairs. The other figure was Sir Robert Morton, an ex-barrister who was quite passionate about justice, now a member of Parliament and M's connection to the ruling body. It is surmised by many that Sir Robert will succeed Mycroft as M.

Both faces suddenly turned towards Hannay.

"Well Richard." Said M. "You have been to the front. Do those disturbing reports we have been receiving have any truth to them?"

"They do M." Replied Richard. "When I was there I saw the horror with my own eyes."

"What did you see?" Demanded Sir Robert.

"War machines with huge firepower and easy maneuverability that put our tanks to shame. Once they pound our defences into jelly, a large mass of human sized monsters raced across no man's land to finish off whatever remains of the soldiers. The German's control these monstrosoties; where they have appeared, they have pushed our defence lines back, creating awkward bulges that could force a general backward reorganisation."

M and Sir Robert lowered their heads as their fears just found the confirmation they didn't want,

"What's really bad about this." Richard continued. "Is what those freakish fiends do to our soldiers when they attack. They mutilate, mangle and bodily tear them apart, they never take prisoners. If all our soldiers hear about this, morale would plummet; there would be mass desertions at the slightest hint of those things attacking."

"Thank you Hannay." Said Sir Robert who then turned to M. "We have to locate the scientists who are producing this horror and stop them. Where is Ashenden, we must put him on the case at once."

" This is beyond his abilities. Anyway, I have sent Ashenden to Denmark." Said M.

"Denmark, what in blazes is he doing there?"

A bout of arguing had begun and as it got more frenzied, Richard Hannay moved away from its epicentre to view the gallery of paintings, They were of Leagues of Extraordinary Gentlemen: several had existed throughout the last few centuries. Mina Murray was leader of the current League and their group photograph hung proud on the wall alongside portraits of other such groupings.

What took Richards attention was the figure of Baron Munchausen with drawn sabre, shown in a nearby painting, presenting the League he put together in the mid eighteenth century. There was a man in tanned buckskins with a long upright musket and a coonskin hat. An American Indian with a tomahawk and musket crossed as well as another weapon strapped to his back leaving only the handle visible. There was a man at the end who either had a bad complexion or the artist was unkind and he had no weapons, just a perfume bottle. The woman was a scene stealer, her dress showed much shoulder and cleavage; she exuded lust and her pose seemed to cry out for it. It would have been difficult for the man next to her to keep his eyes off her. He was a tall blonde youth who must have found being next to her and maintaining a balanced pose a hot ordeal; for he had removed his military top and placed it on a chair, leaving him to be painted with a frilly white shirt with a open neckline.

"My dear M." Said Sir Robert. "It seems we must assign to this task The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen with all haste."

"You're quite right Sir Robert. " Answered M. "But Mina Murray and her League are all tied up on another mission right now. I cannot recall them."

"You must. We have a crisis here that could turn the course of the war against us and our allies."

"It can't be done." Said M. "What we're going to have to do is assemble the emergency League and put them to this task."

Sir Robert Looked mortified. After a deathly silent pause he moved to the filing cabinet and pulled out a file.

" You can't be serious M." He asked. "When you pitched this League to me it sounded so preposterous that it had to be a joke."

"I'm sorry if you find this idea so incomprehensible Sir Robert, But my judgment must hold sway here. This is the League for the job."

Richard could read Sir Roberts face. The parlimentarian was asking himself the question that he dare not vocalise. Mycroft's little brother had long since retired from his profession, so why is this portly, indulgent layabout still occupying this important government post when he seems to be long overdue for retirement himself.

"M, I must protest of all these individuals listed, the pilot is the only one I approve of." Sir Robert yelled as flicked through the file. "Now what else do we have here; a primordial savage, a criminal, a German and this!"

Sir Robert Morton picked out a page and shook it like he wanted to throttle it.

"This is something totally bizarre. A zoo is the place for this foul thing."

This time Richard read Mycroft's face. It showed doubt. Doubt that Sir Robert Morton should ever succeed him as M.

"Nevertheless." Commanded M. "These are the ones who are best suited for the job. All we have to do is get them here and explain the situation to them. Leave the motivation to me. Once they are sent out you will be astounded as you were shocked. Just go with this and see.

Sir Robert seemed suitably resigned to what he considered a morbid undertaking; his protests were replaced with an inactive stupor, until a demand from M snapped him to attention.

"You did mention the need for haste." Blurted M. "So we must get to work at once."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The clouds stood white and motionless, all joined together in a large blanket. It was this opaque layer that gave the pilot of the military biplane occasional reassurance that he would approach his designated target unseen. Navigation was difficult when the ground couldn't be seen, only sparse gaps in the misty blanket allowed it to be seen briefly. Only a single mountain peak rising above the white layer provided a central compass point for determining where he was. A look back revealed that the two fighter planes sent to follow and support him had dutifully maintained their tail.

James Bigglesworth was the chief pilot's name, though he was known to his friends as Biggles. All his friends were at his former post though; he had been recently transferred to a different part of the front as a punishment, after being found out giving unauthorized flying lessons to Phrynne Fischer, an amourous Australian nurse, . He virtually knew no-one in his new airfield, including the pilots of his current support aircraft. They were just known to him as B1 and B2; yet they followed him loyally, clearly trusting his navigational judgment.

Major Gresham, the airfield commander had ordered James Bigglesworth to destroy two enemy observation balloons before they spot an allied infantry advance in that area. The target's location was pinpointed on a strategic map and Biggles was confident he could get within strike range unnoticed if he flies his plane above the clouds. So far, so good.

Biggles drew a compass circle in his head noting the estimated distance the protruding mountain peak ahead was. He turned his plane left and the two support craft followed. After a minute Biggles gave the signal to dive under the cloud carpet, then turned his course down. The misty white vapour enveloped him for an instant then cleared to reveal the landscape beneath.

The two observation balloons were before him. His sense of direction worked better than he hoped, it was near perfect. The target's were close and would be in strike range in seconds.

What defences present were: barrage balloons whose mooring cables would be the end of a plane if it flew into them; anti-aircraft artillery on the ground; machine gun fire from the ground,if you flew low enough to get in its range and two patrolling fighter planes with more to come when needed. Biggles surprise entry into the area had caught the enemy off guard, including one of the patrol aircraft, After leveling out of the dive, he approached its rear side without being noticed then maneuvered behind it.

With a level flight trajectory, Biggles fired his twin Vickers machine gun; the interrupter gear preventing any shots from hitting his own spinning propeller. All bullets seemed to hit home. The German Albatross plane began its downward smokey dive to the ground.

B1 and B2's planes appeared on opposite sides of their chief, each giving a hand signal of exultation. Biggles, grateful that they had both with him, gave B2 a hand signal to ascend high and watch for other enemy fighters, he acknowledged then flew up. Biggles turned to B1 and was met with a hand signal plea to let him bust the first balloon; the chief gave a reluctant nod with a hand signal of caution.

The three fighter planes were Sopwith Camels armed with twin Vickers machine guns up front and a Lewis machine gun mounted on the side with special incendiary bullets. There were also Coopers bombs attached to the belly that could be dropped on an enemy.

B1's path to the first balloon with a black cross was nearly direct, only swerving slightly to avoid the several barrage balloon cables in between him and the target. Anti-aircraft fire began to litter the sky. The element of surprise was spent, but it got them close. As both observation balloons began to be winched down, the lookout in the first balloon bailed out, his parachute flaring out.

Biggles began his move on the second balloon, he had best destroy it before he has to get within range of the ground machine guns to defend it. A few moments were spent turning aside to take out two barrage balloons with the Lewis gun, he hit them both in quick succession and the incendiary bullets turned them into balls of fire. With the obstucting cables now falling to Earth, Biggles continued his direct strike run towards his primary target.

Anti-aircraft fire nicked his wing and tail, a look back at the latter brought relief when he saw that the plane's control wire was intact. If that taut wire at the rear was severed the Sopwith Camel would become a useless assemblage of metal and plummet to the ground in a random fashion.

B1 was almost within strike range of his target, he had avoided the anti-aircraft fire. Biggles saw a small balloon rising up from the ground to reach B1's flight path, it exploded close to the Sopwith when someone on the ground pressed a remote control. The plane got a little cooked but was still functional; B1 to. Twin Vickers machine guns fired at the huge gasbag, but the bullets only tore through the fabric without igniting the hydrogen.

"Not the Vickers. Use the Lewis gun." Yelled Biggles, Knowing that he could not be heard.

The attacking Sopwith then swerved right bringing his course alongside the balloon. B1 fired his Lewis gun at the target.

"No." Yelled Biggles. "Not now. You're too close."

It was pointless, his protest was absorbed by the wind. Incendiary shots hit The gasbag and an explosion lit up the smokey sky. A whoosh of fire leaped out in all directions and one immersed the Sopwith Camel in flame. Biggles saw the burning body of B1 jump out of the cockpit. That pilot preferred a short drop to his death than being incinerated alive in his seat.

James Bigglesworth saluted the fallen fellow aviator then resumed focus on his own target. Enemy fire suddenly strafed his left wing. The other German patrol plane was dive attacking it would have unleashed another lead shower had not itself been under attack. A string of machine gun fire tore through the enemy cockpit and hit the fuel tank; the Albatross quickly combusted. B2 was clearly on the ball, he stopped the enemy dive attack with one of his own.

Biggles gave B2 a thumbs up then signaled that he should resume his high point, the pilot obliged.

There was no sign of the enemy pilot leaving the inflamed plane. As the burning vehicle continued its final dive; the pilot, whether injured, unconscious or dead was in the fiery cockpit to stay.

Several of those balloon bombs were seen ascending towards Biggles' flight path. Seasoned expertise allowed the aviator to swerve away from each. They exploded when they reached his height, but for Biggles it was like driving a racing car through a series of chicanes.

Machine gun fire hammered out from the observation balloon's gondola. The lookout was brave but a bad shot, the plane's swerving didn't help him score a hit. It was commendable that he waited till the last minute, but when the time came to bail out, his rush condemned him. A hasty connection to the parachute in the bag and jump from the gondola ended with him dangling with his harness clumsily attached to a gondola support rope.

War did not allow James Bigglesworth to consider the unfortunate lookout. Many lives depended on him completing his objective. Turning his plane to the right, with a decent distance from his target, Biggles fired the Lewis gun at the black crossed gasbag and watched it erupt in a burst of hot orange. The blast warmed the aviator for a brief few seconds, then died away.

The dangling lookout was not burned but had a certain death coming as the inflamed gondola began its long fall to Earth taking him with it.

Biggles steered his plane to get clear of the anti-aircraft fire and head back to base. A smoke trail down below told of another plane shot down. His concern for B2 was answered when the support aircraft appeared beside him. B2 signaled that he had shot down another enemy fighter. Biggles gave a quick thumbs up, then tried to communicate through hand signals that they are usually in pairs, and he must look out for another enemy plane.

If this communication was understood, he would never find out; a strong fusillade of bullets hit B2, cutting him and his aircraft virtually in half. As the support plane fell, an Albatross fighter pulled out of its attack dive and settled beside the last Sopwith Camel. When Biggles saw the German pilot there was mutual recognition despite goggles and head ware. This was Stalhein, Biggles ever recurring opponent throughout his combat career.

Stalhein motioned his arm for a signal, what he did was bring it to the level of his own chin, then with a stretched out palm, gave a prompt horizontal movement, much like cutting a throat. Biggles returned the gesture only to find his foe pulling out a Luger pistol.

A quick jerk of his control stick and Biggles' plane rolled under his opponents aircraft; a pistol shot ripped through the seat where his back was a moment ago. Looking up Biggles saw a couple of bombs attached to his enemy's fuselage belly; sure enough Stalhein guessed his position and let one drop. A swift swerve to the right allowed the target to only just avoid the falling death machine. That most necessary action allowed Stalhein to once again seize the initiative and maneuver behind the Sopwith Camel.

James Bigglesworth did not panic he had enough confidence left in him to try some evasive maneuvers, he never kept a straight course, that would give the German time to aim at him. He tried swerving right, Sopwith Camels were good at that, but his pursuer flew that Albatross so well that he couldn't be shaken off. Dive and swerve, spiraling, he would have tried looping if he wasn't certain the engine would stall; but Stalhein stayed on his back and was always a hair's breadth away from hammering those mounted machine gun bullets into his plane.

Upwards towards a hole in the cloud layer was the sudden new course of the desperate Brit. Stalhein followed; only the rising gradient preventing him from steadying his machine gun aim. Biggles achieved a vector that was almost purely vertical, knowing that his engine was only a inch away from stalling. He suddenly yawed right, applying full rudder and maintained the turn until he performed a near perfect u-turn then flew downward to charge the Albatross head on.

This maneuver was not new to aerial combat; Stalhein knew of its use throughout the war. What caused him to be caught off guard was the Sun, shining its rays into his face. Biggles chose this trajectory so that his plane would eclipse the bright star from his pursuer's view then blind him when the turn was half completed.

Twin Vickers machine guns fired as the Camel dive attacked its opponent, the bullets flooded the Albatross rear with lead. Stalhein could only fire his Parabellum gun blindly as the bright sun rays blurred his sight. A snapping sound amid the bullet hits was a virtual death knell for the German pilot. Biggles saw something give way near the enemy rudder; it was the control wire for steering; the shots had either severed or detached it.

The Sopwith Camel flew clear of the doomed Albatross as it began to helplessly whirl in the air. Without a functioning control wire, the German fighter's rudder was now subject to the wind, gravity and inertia. It flew wildly in small circles and would soon dive hopelessly to a crash landing.

The pilot jumped from the cockpit, narrowly missed being hit by the circling plane propeller. A parachute opened up and Stalhein was on his way to safety on the ground, his plane veered down into a near vertical dive for its final course.

Biggles veered his plane to face Stalhein's descent path, readying his twin Vickers machine guns for a last usage today. The falling German faced the triumphant Brit, without trying to veer his parachute out of the line of fire; that would be a panic move that the Camel could easily compensate for.

James Bigglesworth put his finger on the triggers as he faced his recurring opponent, gave a wide grin, held it for two seconds then steered his aircraft towards home, removing his fingers from the deadly mechanisms.

"Perhaps another day, on another adventure." Biggles said to himself.

The trip back to base was smooth despite the Sopwith Camel's damages. As soon as he landed Biggles was told to report to Major Gresham. Despite two whiskey bottles in the waste paper bin the base commander kept a professional posture while hearing the mission report and casualty list.

"I know what it's like to lose comrades in the air." He said with barely hidden despair. "Balloon busting has proved to be a very dangerous pursuit for this squadron. But you have achieved a difficult mission; which explains why you have been summoned by authorities above the top brass."

Major Gresham revealed a letter with a seal that most Generals wouldn't get to use.

"You are to fly to this American airfield where a particular flier is perfecting his aerial ability. Both of you will board a transport plane to London."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Trees virtually surrounded the old abandoned river dock, so the hunters focused their rifles on the only foot trail that provided ingress to the site. Their expected target did not use boats, so therefore he would enter through this passage; thus was their logic. The fiend who had proved to be the greatest nuisance to ivory hunters would meet his end at that point.

One marksman briefly took his attention away from his sniper scope to check on his fellows: to his right was his bespectacled leader, bearing a pistol; next to him was another rifleman maintaining his concentration on that spot. Two Askari guides stayed back ready to support the ambush if needed.

The man tied to the mooring post was a reluctant participant, he was Charlie Allnutt the grizzeled, unshaven skipper of the boat in dock: the African Queen 2 or was it 3; no matter it had served its purpose. As soon as the soldiers were finished here they would sink it along with its drunken skipper.

"Why don't you all give up and go back to camp?" Yelled Charlie. "You're wasting far more than your time you know."

The bespectacled leader turned to him and said. "You called him on the radio, we made sure of that, he will come."

"That's what I meant and that's exactly why you should get out of here."

The sniper turned to his leader. "Shall we give him another bottle of whiskey."

"Certainly not. He's loud enough as it is."

A command was given to the Askari to gag him and they promptly obliged then resumed their posts.

Charlie Allnut had resumed his whiskey guzzling and disshelved appearance after his prim missionary wife had left him to work in a field hospital for wounded soldiers. The war gave him his wife and the war took her away. Now he was bound and helpless after these bad men forced him to call one of his casual acquaintances on the radio, thus setting him up to be murdered.

These ivory hunters had experienced great trouble, even casualties, while trying to shoot elephants in this area. They were going to make the author of this trouble pay, as soon as he shows up.

"I think he's coming." Said a rifleman.

The other rifleman quickly gazed through his scope at the leafy passage. He did notice a dark shape somewhere near the designated entry point. A strange movement of leafy branches certainly indicated a presence there; just one more second, and he should be visible. The rifleman's finger tensed on the trigger but released when a intensely sharp pain struck his back and chest.

A look down revealed a bloody arrow head sticking out of his chest, it had been fired from above, passed through his upper back and out his rib cage. Whatever scream that began was drowned by the blood gushing out of his mouth; he dropped his firearm and keeled forward.

The bespectacled leader tried to help the dying comrade, not seeing behind him a looped vine coiled about the neck of the other rifleman, who was stunned by disbelief that he didn't notice his own peril till the loop tightened and raised him, by his neck towards the treetops. He could not scream, just kick the air.

Charlie Allnut saw the counterweight for the rifleman's ascent descend to the ground at a point right behind the two native guides; they had only just noticed the misfortune of the hunters, not the presence behind them which let go of the taut vine. This was noticed by the bespectacled leader; through the blur of sunspots he saw the vague figure assault each guide from behind and knock them both out.

Aiming the pistol in that direction was cut short when the limp body of the strangled rifleman fell from the height it was raised to and landed partially on top of him. The pistol was dropped and the spectacles lost, while he was struggling to regain his senses he heard a bone cracking sound. If the hanging hadn't killed the rifleman the personal neck breaking most certainly did.

He groped the ground for his pistol, it was found after a desperate few seconds,seized and aimed at the blurry attacker. His hand exploded with pain before he could fire; his scream echoed throughout the surrounding jungle. His fingers wouldn't obey his commands anymore, most of them were severed, the hand had been cut with strongly wielded knife.

The remaining hand moved along the ground to help regain his balance, it touched his spectacles. Both frame and lenses were intact but smudged with dirt, when he frantically put them on he could see through a clear spot in the right lens the figure before him.

Athletic and tanned stood the tall man who was naked but for a loin cloth. A quiver of arrows was strapped to his back and a bow hung from his shoulder. His eyes were grey, framed by his long black hair. A empty short scabbard was next to his loin cloth, the large hunting knife was in his hand. So this was Tarzan of the Apes, the man they tried to ambush.

A quick flick of the knife and the bespectacled ivory hunter's throat was cut open; as he lied down to his death position, he engaged his remaining hand in a futile effort to stop the flow of blood. The spectacles stayed on, but his vision faded away.

A light simian like sound was uttered by the tanned figure; a black haired anthropoid came out of his hiding place in the leafy passage and answered the call. After a couple of verbal exchanges the ape retired to the thick jungle to seek out fruit.

Tarzan moved to the mooring post and cut Charlie Allnut free. "They made you radio me?"

Charlie removed his gag. "Yes, they had a pistol to my head. Thank you Tarzan for being smarter than them. I see your ape friend distracted them while you position yourself above them, that was brilliant."

"Why you call me twice?" Demanded Tarzan.

"The second time was when they made me do it. They didn't know about the first time.'

Charley Allnut reached into a supply cupboard on the African Queen and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Tarzan signaled a decline to join him.

"You not call Tarzan to have drink I hope." Asked the jungle lord.

Charley put away the glasses and drank feverishly from the bottle. "No, the first call was made because someone is coming to meet you."

"Who."

The brash unshaven skipper put his face up to pour another few gulps of whiskey down his throat and did so with relish.

"Them." He said as he pointed his finger to the sky.

What Tarzan saw challenged his knowledge of the world. Flying through the sky was a huge bulk much like a whale, it had multiple propellers spinning on its outside. Attached to its stomach was a windowed structure like the deck of a ship. It was lowering itself towards this riverdock.

He knew enough of civilization to know about powered aircraft and soon realised that this was a zeppelin.

Tarzan seized Charley. "Germans have zeppelins. You bring Germans here?"

"Relax, They're not Germans, they're French."

Sure enough a familiar French voice bellowed out of a megaphone; it was Paul D'Arnot the French Naval officer who first taught Tarzan to speak.

"Hello Jean, or should I still say Tarzan?"

The Jungle Lord dismissed all caution when he heard his old friend. Within ten minutes he had said goodbye to Charley Allnut and ascended the gangplank into the zeppelin's gondola.

Paul D'Arnot was there to greet him with a kiss on each cheek and a jovial welcome. What perplexed the apeman was that the visible crew was predominantly made up of Indians in turbans all working diligently at their posts, with minimal distractied attention towards him. Another French officer was introduced to Tarzan, he was referred to as Captain Brieux; he wore a higher ranking uniform, leaving the visitor to assume that this was the airship's captain.

Tarzan was then informed that he was only the Executive Officer.

"My dear Jean." Said Brieux. "Airships have taken me to strange places but this ship's Commanding Officer has had adventures that defy imagination."

Brieux noticed an approaching presence around the corner. "Tarzan, let me introduce you to the man."

A splendidly uniformed figure turned the corner and greeted the visitor; he removed a black silk domino mask from his face revealing a fine mustache, friendly smile along with his German accent.

Brieux finished the introduction. "Captain Mors, the Luftpirate."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Captain Mors was an odd addition to The League: he was German, a pirate; a power unto himself and a former member of The Twilight Heroes, the German equivalent of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

The Luftpirate had taken his best ship along with his crew to adventures on planets Mars and Venus along with other extraterrestrial worlds. He had fought tyranny in many shapes and forms and each time his misanthropy had got no better, he considered each challenge and triumph a reminder of how monstrous people can be.

So when the Great War broke out, Captain Mors hesitantly offered his support to the country of his birth, then gave only pedestrian contribution to the war effort. This conflict brought his misanthropy to near unbearable heights; mankind's stupidity was at its worst. Why should he contribute at all? This was a question that drove him to seek extended leaves where he would take his crew and find adventure on other planets; return months later with nothing more than rudimentary novelties for the military top brass that wanted so much more of him.

Eventually he was told to become part of a special team; it was called The Twilight Heroes. This idea intrigued him enough to participate, but his active membership would be joyless. This Germanic League was made up of individuals who belonged in a waxwork horror museum: the morbid psychiatrist, bringing with him a narcoleptic patient who was a homicidal maniac; a mad scientist who's technical skill was one hundred years before his time, he brought his wicked mechanical creation with him; and lastly there was the criminal overlord with hypnotic skill.

Captain Mors felt as comfortable with these entities as he had with the tyrants he fought in Outer Space. The Luftpirate soon took his leave of that bizarre grouping and recommenced his periods of extended leave on other planets and minor contribution to Germany's war effort.

Then in mid 1918 came a nasty rumour among the military top brass. Mors heard this rumour and observed the senior officers attempts to discourage and prevent it spreading. This treatment was typical for a rumour that was a devastating fact.

The rumour was that the Kaiser was a prisoner of the Americans, it says that during a goodwill visit to the front line he was kidnapped by a soldier, who had cleverly crossed No Man's Land disguised as a tree and crossed back in the Kaiser's automobile with his royal presence taken prisoner.

This embarrassing slip in security resulted in several executions and noble suicides; but that which came in to fill the royal vacancy was a fiend, an inhuman presence with a dictatorial flair, a mind set on world conquest and godlike control over the human race. This figure was not even born of natural parents he was devised in a laboratory, he claimed the Kaiser's blood was part of his personal construction, thus his eligibility for the supreme role.

The military top brass and royal servants had adopted this fiend as their leader, deducing that his drive to conquer the world was just what Germany needed to climb out of the pit of misfortune the war had put them in and turn its fortunes in their favour. The common people and soldiers were oblivious of this abomination, it was a tightly kept secret. He was always referred to as the Kaiser by those who knew the truth; he was never to be mentioned by name; an identity that revealed what he was; no-one was to say "Kaiser Homunculus."

This perverse twist of fate for Germany was too much to bare for Captain Mors, his sense of loyalty to the fatherland took a nose dive. But this time he would not flee the Earth and its self-destructive people, he docked his interstellar craft, the Meteor, in a hidden base and travel over the war torn world in his airship. Any contribution or even communication with the Kaiser's military was lackluster and beneath minimal to avoid great scrutiny.

Soon the Luftpirate would secretly cross the English Channel and offer his services, ship and crew to M, the mysterious leader of British Intelligence. Mycoft Holmes welcomed the German aeronaut and convinced him to keep his defection a secret, thus becoming a double agent. Mors would conduct missions of reconnaissanse, sabotage, extraction and infiltration for the British Empire. To further show his alliance with the allied powers he would take on French airship Captain Brieux as his Executive Officer.

Brieux was excited to be in an airship again; he worked well with the Indian crew, handled the instrumentation with professional ease and displayed perfect aerial sense when it came to reading the clouds and wind. In time Brieux told of his commanding an airship expedition into the Polar regions to seek out a lost viking colony.

Communication with M was made easy by a direct radio link, Mors' presence in London was seldom required. The current order was not the case though: he was ordered to pick up a Naval Officer from a port in French West Africa; take the individual, Paul D'Arnot, to the Kenyan rainforest and summon the jungle lord known as Tarzan of the Apes; once he was acquired, bring him to London for briefing.

All this was achieved with little trouble, apart from some embittered ivory hunters who came to a nasty end. The apeman first showed hostility to the German commander but an assurance from Paul D'Arnot soothed the antipathy Tarzan had usually shown towards German's during the war.

When Tarzan was taken through the central gallery, front and rear galleries he noticed that the furniture and decor were much like that of a passenger ship with shiny finished mahogany railings and plush cushioned seats. The gondola's windows gave excellent views of the outside, the propellers Tarzan saw beside the airship were actually wing screws controlling the vehicle's direction. The experience of seeing the green jungle canopy pass beneath him was dizzying, the apeman would need time and medicine to get over his air sickness. A cabin was made available to him to sleep off his vertigo during the long trip to London.

It was during the Mediterranean crossing that Captain Mors received a communication from M. The request was for Mors to accept an invitation to appear at a formal party for high ranking military. This was to be held at the mountain top castle of Schloss-Adler. Mors standing with the German military was shaky, but if he could mix socially with those individuals he could learn a few things about the new horrors showing up at the Western Front.

Mors accepted the task with a great deal of trepidation. Germany may be aware that he is a double agent and arrest him as soon as he arrives. There will most certainly be scrutiny amongst the Generals and Barons for his lacklustre effort to the war. Brieux was told to deliver Tarzan to London if he does not return and help M in any way possible.

The Jungle lord woke from his slumber and began to manage the aerial heights with ease. He looked down upon the European landscape with awe and wonder. Mors, freshly dressed and groomed for a party, pointed out the Duchy of Grand Fenwick as they flew over France. It was untouched by the War, unlike the French countryside; Tarzan noticed the long trenches, wide bomb holes and smoking ruins. Germany was the next country to pass over; Mors pointed out the Kingdom of Ruritania.

Tarzan asked the Captain. "Are we going to fly over Lutha?"

"Sorry my friend." Replied Mors. "Lutha is too far east. It is not in our path."

"I have friends in Lutha." Said Tarzan disappointingly.

"Lutha is a brave little kingdom between Austria and Serbia. It holds out well against Austrian aggression. Perhaps on the way back we can pay a little visit."

The Bavarian Alps were the prominent view ahead, Mors was familiar with Schloss Adler and pinpointed its location on a mountain top. As the airship approached, the crew noticed several zeppelins moored on the airfield at the mountain's base.

"We don't need to moor there." Said the Captain. "This ship can drop me off at the fortress steps and pick me up when I'm through."

Schloss Adler was a castle that gave a god-like view of Germany. Many lights revealed the festivity within. Expert manipulation of the controls allowed the airship to descend to the exterior grounds, lower the gangplank and allow Mors to disembark. Tarzan and the French officers were told to stay out of sight.

Entrance to the fortress was usually by cable car Mors had to knock on the front door. His landing via airship was noticed and a porter rushed to the door to let him in.

"Greetings Captain." He said. "If you could follow me, I shall take you to the gathering."

Up several flights of stairs was the course taken before Mors found himself in an ornately decorated room. It was large with plush rugs and bearskins on the wooden floor; the stone walls had stag heads, paintings and heraldic shields on it; several glowing chandeliers were on the ceiling. An earthworks fireplace added its flaming illumination to the baroque atmosphere.

Men in full dress military uniforms wandered through this and many other similar rooms. There were some finely dressed woman to, but mainly this was a gathering of military elite. When Mors approached a crowd of such figures it was like a parade of shiny monocles, multiple medals, Iron Crosses and well manicured mustaches.

Crowd reaction was sudden, Mors was instantly mobbed by officers seizing his hand for a handshake; it was a flash flood of joviality; those who couldn't get close for a welcoming grip or pat on the shoulder settled for a Prussian salute, others just raised their glasses in appreciation or gave curt nods. It appeared that his adventures in Outer Space and on Earth still held the public imagination despite his questionable lack of effort towards the war.

After the initial welcoming wound down, Mors moved himself into a circle of zeppelin commanders. Captain Zuppner grabbed a glass of moselle of a passing wine stewards tray and handed it to the Luftpirate who accepted it graciously. A predicted request to tell of his latest adventures was about be answered when a loud voice from the circles far end cut in.

"Why do you want to hear of his exploits? They don't do a thing for the war effort." Said Captain von Gorian.

The gruff commander was known to Mors; he was an extremely militant soldier who openly loathed anyone not giving their full best effort to the war.

Gorian was a gifted zeppelin commander in the first years of the war, but his luck ran out one day when he was crossing the North Sea after a raid in Scotland. British planes caught up with his zeppelin before he could elevate it above their effective range; multiple strafings ignited several pockets of hydrogen, costing the large craft its aerial worthiness, thus it began to descend, which meant copping more fire from the enemy planes. Gorian may have reversed the situation had not a fighter plane's bullet entered the window he was looking out of and hit him in the forehead. Luckily for the Captain the shell was badly manafactured and bounced off him after cutting the skin. He was knocked out and the crew figuring he was dead dropped his body out of the doomed airship as dead weight.

If the bullet didn't kill him the fall should have, but no, he hits the sea surface with just the right angle to save his life. The impact and submersion jolt him into consciousness. He manages to swim to the surface then thrash about with uncontrollable rage. A Dutch fishing boat picks up the raving mad survivor and hands him over to the police. Gorian's irrational rage continued for days without saying anything intelligible. While the surviving crew of his destroyed zeppelin were interred for the duration of the war; Captain Gorian was placed in a straight jacket and sent to an asylum where he remained for a year before German spies broke him out and returned him to the fatherland for further service in the zeppelin force.

As for the recovery of his faculties and sanity; Mors made the evaluation, faculties yes, sanity probably not.

"Why can't we hear of the great Captain Mors using his airship to bomb the front lines and send masses of enemy combatants into oblivion." Blared Captain von Gorian. " Or to direct its destructive potential onto an enemy airfield, blockading battleship or even better the cities of our upstart foes. Yes; make them shudder until they beg us to let them surrender."

"Captain von Gorian." Answered Mors. "If we can't fight war in a respectable manner then we should not wage it at all."

"Like what your doing; nothing at all." Yelled Gorian. "I can't recount a single thing you have done to really help the war effort. No; you've had you your damn head in the stars."

"Yours and my view of contributing to the war effort are clearly different."

Captain Zuppner cut in before Gorian could continue his rant. "Not another word Captain Gorian. We should appreciate Mors efforts; he has utilized his aerial craft for something we should all be doing; Exploring. Us Germans have zeppelins, we could issue forth a new age of discovery and open up the sky ways to beautiful bright wonders that sadly await the end of this all encompassing war which unfortunately monopolises our skill and potential."

"Oh; so your with this counterfeit patriot?" Said Gorian.

"I'm all for exploration." Answered Zuppner. "I would gladly trade ten bombing runs for just once to take my zeppelin and go on an adventure like his."

All others in the circle became lost in their own personal imaginations of grand adventure in exotic lands. Captain von Gorian left the ring to mingle elsewhere.

"Thanks Zuppner." Said Mors. "I hope your adventure comes soon. We should talk about them when they're over."

The Luftpirate drifted away from the zeppelin commanders to blend in with the general party and observe the other rooms. The bar was serving schnapps and beer; a piano was filling the party area with light melodies. The pianist was called Orlac and he played like his hands were a gift from the gods. Several officers were trying to recreate Oktoberfest within the rooms, something they couldn't do at the front, there was plenty of beer here, but the war had compromised their festive spirit too much.

A stalwart figure in a neck brace bid Mors to join him for a schnapps, which he promptly ordered from the bar. He was Count von Raffenstien, a former pilot who after being shot down, survived the plane crash with horrific burns and multiple injuries. He maintained a disciplined aristocratic poise despite his misfortune.

"Man's destiny is to reach for the sky." Said the Count. "Your achievements Captain Mors dwarf all others, though we must bid all prospective aviators to reach further and further up."

"It's a pity the war requires our pilots to aim low and reach for the ground." Replied Mors.

"Yes, the war." Uttered Raffenstein. "It often requires aviators to look down instead of up. War sent me up to the glorious firmament then grounded me permanently on a shattered Earth with a broken body. Now I am a prison camp commandant for downed pilots.

"I am honoured really; they wil carry on the dream of reaching the heavens after the war is over.

A steward bought two shooter glasses of schnapps and handed one to both aeronauts.

"I would feel honoured to drink with someone who has already achieved my long cherished dream." Toasted Raffenstein as he clicked his heels

Both schnapps went down in a second. The Count and the Captain shook hands then separated.

Another aristocratic voice called Mors to his circle. He was Baron von Klugermann, Imperial leader of Germany's aerial forces, the others were obviously pilots.

"Greetings Captain Mors." Said the Baron. "I hope you didn't find Raffenstein to gloomy, he is a man with his head in the sky and his feet stuck on the ground."

"He was quite pleasant actually." Replied Mors.

"Being in this high mountain fortress must have brought his positivity back. That and an extra dose of morphine."

The Baron introduced his company. "May I present Baron Emmelman, Hans von Hammer and Phantom F. Harlock."

All handshakes were warm accept Emmelman who betrayed an air of hostility in his.

Baron von Klugermann began a little speech. "I understand that man should follow his heart, but that heart should beat for Germany. This empire is in danger of being humiliated and demonized by the allied powers. Each man must give their all for the Kai; country or we will be forced to live under a mandate of those who hate us."

Mors caught on to the fact that he was going to say "Kaiser", but stopped. This was confirmation that the nasty rumour was true. Kaiser Homunculus was the leader of Germany and driving the war effort to its strange acceleration.

"I hear Baron." Asked Mors. "That new methods are being tested on the Western Front. Will they provide us with this much needed victory."

"Why yes Captain." Answered Klugermann. "The allied soldiers don't know what's hitting them. Our scientists have delivered to us some of the greatest weaponry since poison gas. It's good that some scientifically gifted people are giving Germany what they need to win."

Mors realised Klugermann was drawing him into an argument about his apparent lack of contribution to the war effort.

"What of the Eastern Front Herr Klugermann?" Demanded Emmelman. "We could use some of this help there to. Poland is becoming the rope in a tug of war."

"These methods are still being tested." Answered Klugermann. "Anyway what we have really only benefits the infantry in the trenches. As for us, the scientists tell us they are developing planes that don't need pilots."

That statement struck the group like a thunderbolt.

Baron von Klugermann noticed the group reaction then excused himself. " I must go now and make my presentation. Perhaps Captain Mors here can offer his technology for your current efforts."

Emmelman turned his attention to Mors as if he had the means to turn the war around in Germany's favour. The Baron made a heap of demands, a heap of accusations and proved what a heap of trouble he can be to those he doesn't like; before Hans von Hammer ushered him away to the bar for more schnapps.

Phantom F. Harlock paid compliment to Captain Mors. Using the young invention of aviation towards exploration rather than warfare was admirable. Harlock himself wanted the Great War to end, so he could return to New Guinea and explore the Owen Stanley mountains in a plane.

The two aviators drifted apart. As Mors wandered through the party he noticed two blonde ladies in shiny dresses bare shoulders and cleavages discussing the present males. They were Baroness Klugermann, the leader's faithless wife, and Baroness Sandorff, an amorous aristocrat known for her seductive moves. Each woman turned their attention towards Mors and signaled him to approach them, but the Captain pulled the silk domino mask out of his hat and donned it; a sure sign of disinterest.

Making his way to another room, Mors found himself amongst submarine commanders, they were so few, many of their numbers ending up on the bottom of the ocean. A memorial photo collage of lost commanders was on the drawing board. Mors recognised Friedrich von Schoenvorts who submarine disappeared in the South Pacific and Karl Heinrich von Altberg Ehrenstein, whose U-boat disappeared in the North Atlantic after sinking a British ship.

Mors left this room to further mingle when Baron von Klugermann called for everyone's attention, from a podium in the centre room. Guests flooded into the area where he could be seen; it was shoulder to shoulder.

The Baron began. "Now all of you know that Germany is going to win this war. New science has given us the means to to turn previous misfortunes around. Most of you know about the mighty war machines and masses of homunculi smashing the enemy lines on the Western Front.

"They will come in much greater numbers and sweep the British and Americans to the Channel ports and back across the water to await their just desserts. France will fall within a month, Portugal will withdraw. Germany will then turn its newly augmented fighting forces East.

"So who does Germany owe for this blessed science that revitalises our masterly status over this conflict? The gifted professors of Unit 11, all performing at their greatest potential under the leadership of one brilliant scientist; a German and a patriot. This poster I am about to unveil is the creator of Germany's salvation. Behold, the greatest scientist ever."

The veil was ripped away to reveal a photo poster of a young looking man.

"Doctor TotenKopf."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Multiple searchlights scanned the night sky of Paris, constantly scanning the dark firmament for raiding zeppelins about to bomb the city. Anti-aircraft guns stood ready for engagement as did the airfields. The bright moving beams would occasionally light up the Eiffel Tower, the Arch de Triomphe and other high structures.

For Irma Vep this was both bad and good. Bad that it gave Parisians new interest in the night, whereas her vocation required her to be unseen. Good that it kept their eyes on the sky, away from the walls.

Irma was a cat burgular, one of the most notorious. She sat in a darkened corner on top of the wall around her designated job. Her attire was all black; jumpsuit, slacks, boots, gloves and hood. A generous amount of eye shadow darkened her otherwise pale face as did the black lipstick.

She was once a proud member of an cat burglars' order; it was known as The Vampires. Irma's name was an anagram of the word vampire. But this order was no more, it had been destroyed by the Paris Police; now Irma Vep worked alone.

This mansion she was monitoring was occupied by a wealthy oriental. The gothic gargoyles Irma had often noticed in her many nocturnal escapades were replaced by exotic dragons. It was to steal an artifact inside that had an all too tempting attraction for Irma Vep.

The folk inside seemed to have no interest in the outside, thus keeping them from the shuttered windows. Minimal light emanating from those shutters and virtually no noise indicated only minor activity within; hopefully they were mostly asleep. A group of boys were playing soccer under the neighbouring strreet lamps.

After patiently waiting for a perceived state of null activity within the mansion, Irma made her move. She scurried along the garden wall with all the grace of a cat, till she reached her designated louvre shutter on the mansion's side. It moved without creaking, so to did the window as it lifted. Irma focused her acute night sight on the room within and found it empty. She slid in and dropped to the floor with a professional lack of sound.

A huge dragon's head stuck out of the wall, its mouth open. Irma tapped it and found it to be glazed ceramic. With careful ease the cat burglar opened the room's main door and crept through a hallway; the smell of opium, sulfur and incense pervaded the house. Her night sight was good but somehow her face collided with a mobile of dangling bats; only her steel nerves prevented her from screaming. The bats were real stuffed flying foxes with jaws opened and wings spread. She untangled herself from the dangling snag and proceeded down the hall.

A scorpion emblem revealed the door she was after; it was locked. Irma pulled a pin from her hair and worked it on the lock after ten seconds of low noise manipulation she opened the door. It was extremely dark, even her acute night sight could not help her here. Irma struck a match; the room had ornate furniture but what she was interested in was a cupboard with a Chinese box puzzle opening mechanism. A red lantern was available so Irma lit it and, with red illumination, worked on the puzzle.

She had prepared for this ordeal and practiced with Chinese box puzzles, it was fun seeing her manipulations create further complications elsewhere in the puzzle and trying to sort out those created more and even repeated old ones. Her practice runs sometimes took hours, but this opening mechanism was surprisingly simple, she opened it in less than a minute.

It was here, the Jade Scorpion, a hypnotic devise supposedly employed by Chinese Emporers over the past thousand years, and it was here. Irma reached into the cupboard and seized the green arachnid on a chain. She had it, but as she withdrew her hand a snare tightened around her wrist and a panel slid out of each cupboard sidewall closing together around her forearm. A new Chinese box puzzle formed as the two panels came together.

She was trapped, with only one hand to solve this box puzzle, she began in earnest but this one was not easy like the first. Sounds of activity outside the room told her she had no time to free herself; they were onto her. The first Chinaman to enter the room rushed her, she managed knock him aside with her free arm. Others came in, all with their tasseled caps and braided hair in pigtail queues, they seized her defending limb; she managed to kick one into senselessness but soon her legs were also held.

The man at the door bowed to an approaching presence. That which entered the room was a tall celestial figure in a gold silken robe with dragon embroidery and wide sleeves in which he tucked the opposite hands. Beneath a black velvet hat was a wicked face: the eyes were narrow slits closing on green irises; a pointed goatee added a satanic look and the moustache was a standout. Its two tapered tendrils originated at the corners of the mouth, growing downward past clean shaven lips and extending beyond the jawline. His grin was quite devilish.

Irma recognised him as criminal mastermind Dr. Fu Manchu, who had temporarily traded the Limehouse district of London for Paris.

"Greetings Miss Vep." The celestial bowed to the captive woman but kept her under restraint. "You must have too much confidence in yourself, leading you to be so unwise as to steal from me. The easy puzzle was put there to trap you in the hard one."

A hand left the sleeve it snuggled in and clawed menacingly near Irma's face. The fingers were thin and bony, the nails long and pointy, altogether giving the impression of knives. There was that grin again as the devilish doctor indicated that with a quick swipe of his fingers, he could cut her throat. After a few anxious seconds a pointy fingernail hovered an inch from her eye for a drawn out moment of terror. Fu Manchus grin left his face as the hand left Irma's and with a swift set of manipulations undid the Chinese box puzzle that trapped her hand, which was quickly seized by the pig tailed retainers.

The Jade Scorpion was removed from her hand and handed to Fu Manchu.

"You have good taste Miss Vep. But your error is that this belongs to me and that fact alone should be a sufficient deterrent."

"I could work for you." Irma pleaded.

Fu Manchu's face did not change or grin, though he kept those ocular slits focused on her.

"Miss Vep, do you know that I was once offered the leadership of The Vampires?"

"You?" Irma remembers a period shortly before the fall of the order when The Vampires had to replace their leader several times.

"Of course I humbly refused for the very reason you found the idea so surprising. The Vampires' style of crime is very different from mine, theirs was flawed they continued it and it led to their destruction as it has to yours.

"She will feel the dragon's breath." Fu Manchu said to his retainers. "Go."

Though Irma struggled the many Chinamen maintained a strong restraint as they carried her to the room where the ceramic dragon was. She was tied to set of crossbars: both hands, both feet and her waist were secured to the structure; which stood straight in front of the dragon's open mouth.

Barrels of gunpowder were being placed in a chamber behind the dragon whose inner mouth was being fitted with a cylindrical tube. A long fuse came out of the chamber and was rolled out along the floor ending at the back of the room.

Dr Fu Manchu entered the room with a burning Roman candle and pressed the sparkling end on Irma's wrist. She yelped as the sparks burned her skin. The doctor gave that devilish grin before he removed the firework and let it fizzle out.

"The Dragon's breathe is hot is it not?" said the Celestial. "That was but a hiccup. The large exhale of fire is soon to come. The many sparks will burn away your clothes, then your skin, kindly sending you to honourable ancestors."

A signal to his nearest retainer had the pig tailed henchman reach into Irma's sleeve and withdraw her hidden knife; then a swift grasp at her sock scabbard releaved her of a second concealed blade.

"You will not be needing these Miss Vep." Exclaimed Fu Manchu with that devilish grin.

An order was given for every retainer but one to leave the room. As they did Fu Manchu tucked his hands into their opposite sleeves and gave his last bow to Irma Vep then joined his retinue. The last retainer lit the fuse then rushed for the door, leaving Irma to her fate.

Hissing was the sound made by the lit fuse as it traveled closer to the chamber and her death. Irma struggled to free herself but the ties were too tight and secure. She tried to quickly shift her weight and move the crossbars, but they stood firm in front of the dragon's mouth.

A sudden sound of shattered glass hit the back of the room. The disturbance continued as a soccer ball bounced throughout the room before resting by the crossbars. Irma realised that she left the shutter ajar when she entered the mansion; the kids playing night time soccer just kicked the ball through the side window.

The fuse was halfway burnt when a dark haired kid climbed through the window to retrieve the ball. He noticed her when he picked it up; Irma recognised him as The Licorice Kid one of the smartest street kids in Paris. He noted the fuse, the ceramic dragon and the crossbars then seemed to instantly grasp the situation.

The Licorice Kid pulled out a pocket knife and severed the ties of one hand then placed the little hilt in Irma's free hand. He then began to climb back through the window towards the street.

Irma dared not utter a thank you, that could alert Fu Manchu to her rescue. She freed her other hand then worked on the waist tie as the kid exited the room with the soccer ball. The burning fuse was almost home when she finished cutting her leg ties. She slid the pocket knife up her sleeve then swiftly climbed out the broken window.

Roaring thundered in the room as the dragon's breath began. Sparks shot out of the open mouth in their hundreds, saturating the crossbars with minute burning embers, that soon filled the room. It appears that Irma got out just in time, but then she realised not soon enough. A pig tailed chinaman stood between her and the tree that provided a safe way down to the street.

The retainer had clearly noticed the Licorice Kid enter or leave the premises and climbed the wall to intercept him. He was too late to grab the Kid, Irma saw the young waif finish his climb down the tree, collect the retrieved ball then flee the street as the other players clearly had already done.

The Licorice Kid was clever, he knew he had very little time to retrieve the ball before being noticed, that's why he did only the minimum work required to free her before making his escape.

Irma Vep walked along the top of the wall, past a dragon statue towards the tree. The Chinese guard was clearly not going to let her leave; he faced her, put one hand behind his back and had the other ready to strike. Savate was the skill she was going to employ here, he was only going to use one hand, this should be easy.

Her first action was to distract the ready arm while she pushes him off the wall with her other arm. His arm moved with lightning speed and countered both motions while finding time to bloody her nose. She approached again this time she was going to sweep the legs out from under him. Placing herself just outside the primary range of that fast arm, she dropped and began the sweeping motion with her legs. An attacking kick hit the sweeping limb, the heel biting into her calf sent a message of pain that got her up on her good leg to reorient herself, a hit in the side from the fast arm hurled her backwards; only a lucky grasp of the wall's rim prevented her from falling off to an injurious drop onto the street.

The guard spat in front of her, showing his opinion of Savate, he considered it a European corruption of their art. Irma backed off, in a crawl, to the darkness under the dragon statue. It was when the guard stepped into the dark spot that she struck him in the stomach, he didn't see it coming in the dark, this was her element. Ignoring the pain, the guard struck out with his hands and feet but could not connect with what he didn't see. A kick attack in the dark struck him behind the knee sending him into a forward topple then a hard nudge in the side changed his falling course to off the wall into the garden.

Irma Vep stepped out of the advantageous dark spot and made her way along the wall to the street tree with the overhanging branch and climbed down to the footpath. Paris sirens began to wail, it was as if in protest to her escape, but it was because the searchlights had spotted a hydrogen giant in the sky; or maybe a Gotha bomber plane. Bombs began to drop and buildings would go up in flames. Whatever aircraft was up there it was dropping its payload.

Fleeing the mansion lest the orientals come after her, the catburgular lost herself in the city under attack. It was when she settled herself on a hill to view the carnage wrought by the bombardment, that a stray searchlight beam passed by her illuminating her for a split second. She recovered from its blinding effect as a voice called to her from the darkness behind.

"Irma Vep, last of The Vampires." Said the voice. "I have a message for you."

She turned to see a cloaked figure with a slouch hat. She recognised fellow creature of the night, Judex. He was a mysterious avenger and vigilante. His vocation made him her enemy, but the two did not pursue any conflict. He handed her a sealed letter. She took it.

"Thank you Judex. Do you know The Licorice Kid?" She asked.

"I do Mademoiselle." he replied.

She took the little pocket knife from her sleeve and handed it to the cloaked figure.

"Please give him this and tell him Irma Vep thanks him to the maximum."

Judex took the knife, nodded and left.

Irma placed herself under a street light and read the letter. It was from M, the British Intelligence leader; Irma was to report to him in London and participate in a newly formed League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Irma had fancied herself as a member of the French League, La Hommes Mysterious, but they had their burglar. The British had a safe cracker in their current League. But they're forming a new one and she was going to be its burglar. Irma's blackened lips smiled at this news.

"M thinks I'm a good burglar." She said to herself. "But does he know that I'm a sociopath and a murderess?

"Of course he does." She continued. "And is probably counting on it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Jim Allbright wondered what was peculiar about himself. It didn't make sense him being lined up with these fellow American airman in this hilly area of France where planes could not take off or land. The only airplane on hand was the transport craft that brought them here and that was one hour's walk away in a remote disused runway. All questions as to why they were here remained unanswered.

All pilots lined up seemed to have a peculiarity, save himself, whose only outstanding claim was a heroic midnight flight. Kent Allard, who was next to him, had an abnormally long nose, it even stuck out on his shadow. Clark Savage had his bronze coloured skin over a tall well muscled physique. The remaining figure which squatted next to Clark was something altogether hideous. The three pilots found it difficult to keep at attention in its presence; even the steel nerved Clark Savage almost quivered in disgust at its proximity.

"Jim Allbright, Kent Allard, Clark Savage." Yelled the flight instructor who ordered them here. "I want you to meet your newest fellow aeronaut."

Waldo Pepper was the instructor, he had been away for the last month on a special assignment, then showed up to commandeer three pilots for this undertaking. He had brought them here to meet this figure that had all the loathsome appearance of a giant insect.

The squatted figure seemed to have a black suit of armour on but as it moved the pilots noticed several parts of the armour shifting to accommodate the movement. All three then realised that it wasn't a suit of armour but an exoskeleton. Six thin bony limbs moved the body, each were black with a short femur and long tibia ending at an extra joint where beyond was a barbed tarsus with a sharp claw on the end. The two front limbs had pincers on the end. A set of antennae came out of the exoskeleton then the hideous head upon which they were attached. It had black orbs for eyes and, as it lowered its mandible, a salivating dark mouth that gave all the impression of doing great damage to any organism it bit. The figure stood upright for an instant to reveal a multi-tiered abdomen made up of crustaceous rings kept moist with slime oozing from his bodily pores. Clearly preferring to stand on all six limbs the figure that was the size of a man adopted the stance and appearance of a beetle.

"Gentlemen, This is the individual I have been training over the last month." Announced Waldo while indicating the verminous figure. "His anglicized name is Gregory Sampson and I have instructed him to fly."

Jim, Kent and Clark looked at each other, then at the figure called Gregory in bewilderment. This thing couldn't even get into a plane let alone manipulate the controls with those inhuman limbs.

"Show them what you can do Gregory." Commanded Waldo Pepper.

A split appeared down the centre of the exoskeleton covering the back abdomen. the two armoured panels, hinged at the middle of the thorax, moved apart and formed two armoured wings; these were protecting the cicada like wings that unrolled from that thorax. A noise much like that of a spinning propeller filled the area as the soft wings vibrated then flapped. Gregory bounded forward as he was lifted into the air; he hovered ten feet off the ground for a few seconds then the wings adjusted their angle and then the beetle darted upward for some aerial travel above his astonished scrutineers.

Gregory Sampson flew in circles, arcs, vertical loops and mock dives, he even flew around the hill the pilots were on in a matter of seconds, then did the same to other hills before returning to seize Waldo Pepper in his front limbs, lift him into the air and fly once more around the hill with passenger in keep. Waldo did not seem to mind being picked up, he looked quite thrilled when the beetle put him back on the spot he was grabbed. Gregory ended his demonstration by landing on his launch point next to Clark Savage. His wings retracted back into the thorax before the exoskeletal panels closed together and naturally sutured shut.

"There you have it gentlemen." Said Waldo to the stunned pilots. "Your new friend in the air."

The awkward silence was broken by the sound of distant propellers. Waldo quickly checked his fob watch.

"It's time." He said to Gregory.

The three pilots each broke out of their stupor; they recognised the sound of German planes. All but Gregory got out their binoculars and searched the sky. It was Waldo Pepper who pointed out the aerial menace: a Gotha G.V bomber and two Albatross fighter escorts.

"They're heading for a munitions storehouse five miles from here." Said Waldo.

"How do you know that?" Asked Charles.

"It's their most viable target. Intelligence sources predicted such action would be about now. That's why I brought you all here. To stop them."

"How are we going to do that?" Yelled Kent. "We don't have any planes."

"What; no planes." Jested Waldo. "Why that's terrible. I guess we're going to have to stand aside and let Gregory handle this."

The three pilots turned their gazes at the insectoid figure. Clark Savage approached Gregory and put himself face to face with the bug head.

"Gregory; those German planes are going to do bad things to a nearby town. We can't stop them. But hopefully, you can. Could you stop them for us please?"

A few bug sounds came from the insect figure, then his exoskeleton began to open again, the swinging panel forming a set of elantra, effectively being wing guards. The cicada like wings unfolded and spread, then vibrated and flapped sending Gregory into the air, he turned his course towards the passing planes. The engagement was going to be near, Jim, Kent and Clark would get a good view.

"Hang on." Yelled Kent to Waldo. "He doesn't have any firearms."

Waldo Pepper only smiled.

Single file was the formation used by the German planes. The Gotha G.V bomber was in the middle with one Albatross fighter in front of it and one behind. Neither of the airman saw the approaching presence. The rear fighter pilot picked up that something was wrong when the plane lurched a little as if it suddenly took on extra weight; he corrected his course then noticed a bizarre reflection in the dial glass, it was horrible. A Sharp fierce pain gripped his chest as an large insect talon stabbed into his shoulder and tore through his rib cage. He died without screaming. Gregory withdrew his deadly limb then flew off upwards.

The Gotha G.V bomber had a crew of three; one pilot and two gunners. What concerned Gregory right now was the gunner in the rear gunpit; if he sees the giant insect approach he will fire his Parabellum mounted machine gun and Gregory's exoskeleton may not be thick enough to stop that heavy fire. The insect man wasn't noticed so far so he hovered above his next target.

It was when the rear Albatross fighter plane lurched and began its crash dive because the pilot was dead, that Gregory's opportunity came. The rear gunner kept his attention downward to observe the falling craft. The Insect did a swooping attack seizing the gunner and lifting him out of the pit into the air then dropping him. In his confusion, panic and screams he managed to open his parachute but there was insufficient altitude, the gunner fell to his death.

Gregory flew back to the vacated pit hoping he wasn't noticed, he was. He sensed a pheromonal shift in the other two crew members body chemistry; they were in a panic. The front gunner swung the Parabellum towards him but dared not shoot through the plane's structure; the fuel tank was between him and the hideous target. A bullet was shot through the grid that divided the front and back, it came from a Luger pistol, the round bounced off the exoskeleton.

Under the bomber's fuselage seemed safe at the moment, all the bombs were attached to the wings. These planes did have a belly turret though and the front gunner fired it prematurely after he saw the horrible bug monster fly under the plane. Gregory had clung to the belly, he approached the turret, waited for it to stop firing then seized the barrel with his pincer and, employing his giant insect strength, bent it. The panic stricken gunner tried to fire again but the barrel exploded. The insect pincers seized the fuselage floor panel and began to tear it from its rivets; it was ripped asunder. A hole was beneath the gunpit, the gunner had one foot in a pit shelf supporting him, he was terrified and, in a panic, so he primed a stick grenade. Gregory clamped his pincer on the supporting foot and yanked him down through the hole to his fatal plunge. Half way down his parachute opened up, not that it would do any good at this altitude. An explosion blew his body to the four winds. In his terror he forgot to let go of the grenade.

Another Luger shot bounced off the exoskeleton; the pilot was not finished yet. Gregory maneuvered himself along the right wing severing many choice control wires with his pincers, then flew away from the doomed aircraft. The pilot tried futily to compensate for the lack of control over the right wing. The left wing could only do half the balancing not all of it. Soon the large plane helplessly veered left and downward into a spiral dive. It crashed into an empty space between four hills triggering off all 50 bombs. The explosion was enormous and would've been heard by all within a fifty mile radius.

The remaining Albatross pilot had turned his craft around spotting the aerial terror and surmising it was the cause of the calamity. Gregory sensed the fighter approaching him, the insectoid angled his wings and cut his flight path left. Maxim machine gun fire spat through the whirling propeller to where Gregory was a second ago. The pilot veered his plane to get the hideous gremlin in his sights again but its course was spiral and closing in. For teasing instants the target would cross his path the short bursts of fire would be too late to hit it as it corkscrewed towards him. A change in the fighter's course would be compensated for instantly. The pilot lost sight of his quarry, then fired his Maxim gun non-stop hoping the aerial beast would appear in his line of fire for another instant. A shift of the plane's balance at the back had the ace look back to see a giant black beetle on the tail; its pincer was on the main control wire. The pilot's Luger pistol was drawn but the wire snapped before it could be used. At once the aircraft began to whirl chaotically; Gregory flew clear of the gyrating tail. The pilot knew the Albatross was a write off and, with his parachute bag attached, jumped out of the cockpit, but the whirling tail hit him like a baseball bat hits a ball. Down was the course for both the plane and the limp airman who could not pull his ripcord. Destruction found them both as they hit the ground.

Gregory hovered for a minute to view the three crash sites until heavy black smoke from the bomber wreck covered the scenes. He flew back to the hill where a standing ovation of clapping and cheering from the four American pilots greeted him. Waldo, Jim, Kent and Clark all mobbed him as he landed with pats on the exoskeleton and hand skakes with several of his insect limbs including the pincers. He stood upright for this jovial fraternization and felt an acceptance that had mainly eluded him throughout his bug life.

Kent asked Gregory to join them all for drinks when they got back to the airfield.

"We will talk about that during the trip back." Cut in Waldo. "You three know him but everyone else in the airfield do not. We do this one step at a time."

The three airmen then realised Gregory, after having been trained by Waldo Pepper to employ his natural ability to fly and undertake aerial combat, was to be slowly integrated into the American Flying Corps. Their introduction was the first step. The flight of the Gotha Bomber was predicted and used to demonstrate his ability.

Upon goodbye the pilots expressed their hopes to be flying with Gregory soon before departing on their hike back to the transport plane. The black beetle waved farewell with his pincered limb then rested alone for ten minutes before flying back to his own camp.

A tent in the vicinity of the airfield was Gregory's abode; as he flew over it he noticed a British transport plane on one of the runways. He descended to his camp and sensed a familiar presence.

"Hello Gregor." Said the presence.

The giant insect turned to see James Bigglesworth facing him without any of the awkward jittering Gregory usually sees when he meets a human. A few friendly signals was his reply.

"I'm here because M has summoned us both." Said Biggles. "We are to get on that transport plane and fly to London at once."

Gregory expressed a sad agreement. He just made friends with three American airmen with more to follow and now he has to take off.

Biggles had called him by his real first name. What the Americans didn't know was that his name was once Gregor Samsa and that he was a salesman living in Prague who got up one morning to find he was transformed into a verminous insect.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

A heart pounding atmosphere of accelerating joy filled the Paris music hall as the stage was filled with dancers doing the Can-Can. Their skirts were waved to and fro revealing petticoat frills and black stockings. The music kept cascading into a loud vibrant tempo, driving the dancers into a frenzied performance of well synchronized leg kicking known sometimes as the infernal gallop.

The audience sat at tables, clapping their hands interactively with the piece. Tom Swift was at one of these tables, he was a young American inventor, torn from his New Jersey home to personally demonstrate his own design; a Great War tank. Waitresses served him with souffles and other pastries, also white wine, Tom found them all delicious but would still miss his Banana splits, sodas and milkshakes.

Two men seated at the table with Tom were his military escort, Clayton Andrews, who was assigned to watch over him until he reaches the front where the tank was. The other was Jedidiah Leland, an entertainment critic from New York; he was writing out his reviews on the spot.

The Can-Can had given Tom a thrill, he took a large sip of wine.

"Take it easy on the wine Tom." Said Clayton. "You need your wits about you. Enemy spies could be in this very hall."

Tom dismissed those concerns; his experience with spies told him they try to steal the inventions, not the inventor. A visual scan of the music hall pointed out only one suspicious figure, a hooded figure at the table behind him, but that was a woman, she was disregarded.

Whereas this performance gave Tom a thrill, the previous act had him in uncontrollable laughter. It was a man rhythmically farting out the tune of Claire de Lune. This Paris music hall was a cultural jolt for the young inventor; it was almost a shame that many of the following acts would be American.

The next act was Italian, it was famous strongman Masciste; with him on the stage were a handful of actors in Austrian soldiers' uniform.

"He's going to re-enact a scuffle he had with Austrian Alpine troops in the Dolomites." Jedidiah said to Tom.

The actors rushed Masciste and started coiling their ropes about him. A yell of rage bellowed out of the strongman as he shook the actors of like they were flies; his arms swept them into a corner. Masciste grabbed on of the actors, who must have been a stuntman, swung him by his legs as if he was a baseball bat and smashed him into the cornered group. The actors were all bowled over; then, with theatrical restraint, Masciste started beating the piled up troupe with a stick.

A rousing applause came from the French audience as Masciste took a bow before the curtain fell.

"A propaganda show off." Vocalized Jedidiah as he wrote his review.

After the curtain raised more lively music was played by the orchestra as two dancers from America fluttered onto the stage. They were Rose Dawson and Norma Desmond, both young and flighty, they launched into a Hoochie Coochie dance. Fluttering around like butterflies they both charmed the predominantly French audience. At the end Rose stayed behind to show herself lifting up of the ground to stand on the tips of her toes.

Jedidiah started talking while writing. "It appears we're going to make an impression in this country."

A tap on the shoulder had Tom turn to a French soldier at a nearby table; he was Julio Desnoyers, he had an Argentine accent. Clayton trusted the young serviceman and didn't intervene.

"They are from your country Tom?" He asked rhetorically. "I would love to tango with each of them." He plucked a red rose from his belt, placed it in his mouth and roared seductively.

When the curtain raised again an organ was on the stage; next to it was famous British organist Dr Antonius Phibes. His mustached face had a lot of charm, he tested the organ then introduced his American partner in this act. A little girl in pigtails stepped onto the stage and waved. The Americans needed no introduction, this singer was known as Baby Jane.

Dr Phibes sat down at the organ and played. Baby Jane sang her usual sweet songs of innocence and homage to her father while the organ belted out a gothic style accompaniment. Tom had seen Baby Jane perform in America and there she had an sweet little girl appeal but here and with Phibes' organ playing, she took on overtones of gothic horror. When the act was over they both took a bow as the applause honoured them.

"May Baby Jane never grow old." Uttered Jedidiah while writing his review notes.

"As for Antonius Phibes; let's hope he keeps his genius on organ playing and nothing else."

"What's the next act?" Asked Tom.

"A somnambulist." Answered Jedidiah.

An upright cabinet rested against the stage wall. The presenter was called Dr Caligari, a crotchety old man bearing a cane to help him walk but quite able to use it like a showman. He looked at the audience with his eyes trying to see over his spectacles.

"How many of you can see your destinies?" He roared to the audience. "How many of you can look at yourself in the mirror and see what will happen to you in the future?

"You." He pointed to a man at the centre front table. "Can you see what prosperity will find the man at the table next to you?

"You." He pointed to a woman at the right front table. "Can you look at the woman on the table next to you and see the happiness that will shower down on her?

"The answer is no I believe. You can guess, make deductions, conjecture and predictions, but most of destiny is unpredictable driven by random fluctuations; accidents, chance and let's not forget war.

"You cannot see destiny because you have been awake most of your lives. It is ironic but that has placed an invisible curtain over your eyes, lilting your vision to the here and now, never seeing the future and its various courses. This is why your super fortunes often elude you."

Caligari moved to his cabinet.

"I have here someone who is not so limited. He has slept for most of his life, thus he is not blind to destiny. He is due to awake for a few moments. Ask him your destiny and he will tell."

Dr Caligari opened up his cabinet to reveal a sleeping figure of a young man in a black body stocking.

"Behold Cesare." Roared Caligari. "You've slept long enough Cesare. I say awaken!"

The figure did not stir.

"Cesare, Awaken." Caligari Yelled.

Cesare's lids slowly lifted to reveal wide piercing eyes. He stepped out of the cabinet and kept his upright balance well for someone who just awoke from a long sleep. Each step he took towards the stage edge seemed to imply oncoming menace. His wide eyes scanned the audience like a hawk seeking its prey, looking for something to focus on.

A woman in the front stood up and implored him.

"When will I be rich and happy." She asked.

Cesare's face took on a sinister look.

"You will die before that happens." He said.

The woman collapsed back into her chair while being fanned by her friends.

"How long will I live?" Asked a man with a red carnatiom in his jacket.

"Until the end of the show." Said Cesare

A slight feeling of audience discontent emanated from that corner.

"Will I survive the war." Asked Julio Desnoyers.

"No." Said Cesare. "You will die in the trenches."

The somnambulist was looking his way now. Tom did not want his fortune told by this harbinger of death but a nudge from behind jolted his arm up. Tom looked back to see the hooded woman disappear into the crowd. Cesare was focused on him now as was Clayton, with a look of disapproval.

"You." Yelled Cesare while pointing at Tom. " You will die. You will die on the morrow unless you go to blonde woman on the hilltop."

Cesare turned to another audience member for another unsolicited prediction.

"You." He yelled to a bare shouldered courtesan. "You shall die within seconds."

A general discontent came over the audience. When the designated courtesan collapsed and convulsed in what looked like a heart attack, a panic erupted and most people made for the exit.

A man at the back yelled at Cesare. "You're a real bastard. You know that?"

Cesare focused his eyes on the heckler and the ceiling above him.

"You will die right now." He blasted.

A light explosion came from the ceiling above the heckler. The large chandelier at that spot suddenly fell on top of the heckler crushing his skull. Whatever decorum left in the audience disappeared all patrons rushed to join the mob jostling to get out.

Clayton motioned Tom Swift to wait; they saw Cesare collapse into a sleep state. Dr Caligari grabbed him before he fainted and dragged him back into his cabinet. The curtain fell.

One hour later, after the bulk of the crowd had dispersed, Tom, Clayton, Julio and the man with the red carnation found themselves on the street outside the music hall talking to the Paris police. The chief investigator was Inspector Maigret; through his hat and coat he questioned the four and pieced together what happened during the somnambulist's act. The woman who received the first deathly prediction was carried on a stretcher to the mortician's van after being stampeded by the panicked crowd.

Clayton Andrews spoke good French and gave descriptions of Caligari and Cesare. The two were nowhere to be found.

"I don't believe in sorcery gentlemen." Said Maigret. "I shall have these bodies autopsied and designate the music hall a crime scene until these fatalities are fully investigated. There has to be a realistic explanation."

"It must be a sham Inspector." Said the man with the red carnation. "My death was predicted to be at the end of the show. Well that's happened and I'm still here."

Maigret dismissed the four. Tom and the man with the red carnation began to cross the road, the former stopped when he saw the hooded woman give a signal. A hand gripped Tom's collar and yanked him back to the footpath, it was Clayton. A black car accelerated down the street and hit the man with the red carnation, knocking him onto the road then promptly ran over his already broken body. Through the corner of his eye, Tom spotted the haunting figure of Cesare at the car's steering wheel.

The car sped off, its victim dead in its tracks. A red carnation was made of paper, it floated in the breeze and once it landed rolled down the street nudged constantly by the wind.

Maigret, Clayton and Tom stared at each other in disbelief. When this broke off Tom sought out the hooded woman; she was gone.

Julio placed his red rose on the corpse of the victim, then his eyes met Tom's for a mutual stare of oncoming dread. Soon it will be their turn.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The large beetle who was once a human struggled down the stairs of Whitehall. Biggles was a few steps ahead but kept pace with him. It was nighttime and smuggling a large bug through security was surprisingly simple. The fact that the insectoid monstrosity had an appointment probably helped.

James Bigglesworth knew of Gregor Samsa's origins and his path to this assignation. Gregor was an overworked Prague salesman who woke up one morning to find he had become an insect. The reason and means for this happening was never discovered. His family gave an uncomfortable acceptance to his bizarre state and kept him housebound. After several weeks of awkward living in his family abode, Gregor was approached discreetly by shady intelligence agents who broke in while his family was out, then offered him a far away position in their organisation. This was the ex-salesman's way of ending his family's morbid plight.

Gregor Samsa faked his own death; this was achieved with the help of the family housekeeper, who was paid by the intelligence men for her co-operation. The Samsas, then relieved of their dark burden, felt their lives brighten up.

The agents who took Gregor away were from British Intelligence; this he didn't find out till after extraction. Ever since the outbreak of war, Gregor wanted to be a soldier in the Hapsburg army, now he was with the enemy; but they treated him with such friendliness that he felt compelled to join their side. M was a very friendly boss with a gentlemanly manner and good foreign language skills; he arranged for the Czech expatriate to learn the English language and culture.

How this giant beetle could contribute to British security was long pondered. It was M's idea that he must learn to utilise a then untapped talent: to fly and thus engage enemy aircraft in combat. No British flight school seemed to have the right mentality for this task: M dismissed all possibilities and picked out a member of the American Flying Corps to train Gregor. Waldo Pepper was the instructor for the job, he applied much daring to the role and tutored the insect man to spread his wings and fly. How to swerve, dive, levitate, hover and ascend were all mastered by the freaky fledgling as was what to do when seeing an enemy aircraft.

It was a pity this call to service came when Gregor felt a new acceptance by three American pilots, their intense joviality was intoxicating and further acceptance seemed just round the corner. Gregor did have M to thank for taking him away from a dark morbid existence in Prague.

Richard Hannay opened the door at the bottom of the stairs to greet Biggles with a smile and a handshake. The following sight of the giant insect walking down the stairs froze Richard into a stupor. Biggles seized the doorman's shirt and shook him into readiness.

"Gregor, wait here until I introduce you." Said Biggles as he dragged Richard Hannay through the door.

M was standing in the lounge with several other figures. Biggles pushed Richard into a seat, he had only recovered half his wits.

"Ladies, gentleman I present to you James Bigglesworth, a gifted pilot." Announced M. "You can all call him Biggles."

Sir Robert Morton was one of the four figures in the lounge. The others were: a tanned muscular man in safari pants and shirt; a brilliantly uniformed ship's officer covering his face with a silk domino mask; and a woman dressed all in black, even her hood over her dark hair which matched her jet coloured facial cosmetics.

"Hello." Said Biggles. "Nice to meet you all."

Captain Mors tucked away his domino mask and shook Biggles' hand while M verbalised the introductions. The man in the safari suit was referred to as Lord Greystoke, he shook hands awkwardly as if it was a strange greeting custom he was not used to; he also appeared uncomfortable in his apparel, like he wanted to tear it off and wear nothing at all. Biggles approached the woman in black, he felt he should take her hand and kiss it but something in her shaded eyes said "Don't even think about it.". She was introduced as Irma Vep, a mutual curt nod was there greeting gesture.

"Did you bring it?" Asked Sir Robert Morton.

"What he means James is." M corrected. "Is Gregor here?"

"Why yes." Answered Biggles. "He's just outside the door. I Shall introduce him now."

The pilot opened the door and bid the presence beyond to enter.

"Everyone, meet the next member of The League, Gregor Samsa." Said Biggles.

The man-sized insect figure ambulated through the doorway on all six legs then stood up and revealed its slimy abdomen and bug head.

Tarzan reached for his knife scabbard, Mors his pistol and Irma her concealed wrist blade. Shock came over all three faces; thinly veiled disgust on Morton's and concern over M's.

Mycroft yelled out a plea for all present to not draw their weapons. "Neither of you are in any danger from this individual. This is a man, his name is Gregor Samsa, he will be your ally, helper and probable savior in the mission ahead."

The three shocked League members remained stunned with their hands on undrawn weapons. An uneasy relaxation slowly came over the three as M explained Gregor's life story to them and assured them of his willingness help them and never harm them. Biggles gave his testimony to the insect man's friendly nature.

M bade all League recruits to take a seat in the lounge, while a recovered Richard Hannay turned on the projector. Gregor found furniture too awkward but settled comfortably on the floor carpet. The white screen ahead became alight with filmed war images: scenes of devastated towns; cities bombed from above and carnage in the trenches. Captain Mors turned his head away in revulsion.

"I have assembled you all here because these nasty images are on the verge of being much worse." Narrated M as the film rolled. "Already these realities captured on film are too graphic for public viewing. War's ability to horrify both soldier and civilian." He paused. " Has found new momentum that will not only swing the tide in favour of the enemy but bring a new age of fear to all countries in the future. World domination by one single power has found its seed in new artificial horrors unleashed on the Western Front."

The next scene projected on to the screen was of a fortified hill the British had entrenched themselves in.

"These hill fortifications were a military engineer's pride and joy." M continued his narration.

Suddenly the scene was of an explosion which destroyed a good portion of the hill. Wooden supports smashed into splinters; barbed wire flew up into the air taking snared body parts with it; other pieces of severed human limbs were spotted flying into the air. Filming had continued as the erupted mass of earth settled. The trenches underneath the explosion were no longer there, the walls had closed in on each other in an instant, effectively burying their occupants.

Similar explosions hit the remainder of the hill. All viewers could tell that it was being hit by powerful artillery. What was left of the hill after the assault was a mass of bloodied dirt with limbs sticking out. A side movement by the camera revealed not big guns, but highly mobile tanks at the enemy held ground below.

"Yes, those are German tanks." Said M. "They have finally built their own, they're far more powerful and mobile than anything we have got. They destroyed the hill."

Next scene showed, from a distance, a British trench being stormed by enemy troops that seemed to have an overly white complexion and some with a strange gait. When Greystoke observed the advance he recognized in some the posture and ambulation of apes. Machine guns and rifles fired into the oncoming mass but the casualties taken by the attackers were only marginal. The enemy flooded into the trench. All League recruits looked at each other, all knowing the fate of the British soldiers.

"This is another major horror the enemy has unleashed in the trenches." M announced.

Five minutes later the film showed the attacking wave of pale figures leave the position in unison and return to their former lines. A wave of properly uniformed German soldiers then moved into the pre-taken trench.

"That trench was soon taken back with a British counter-attack." Narrated M. "Our cameraman joined them. He shot these scenes of carnage."

Piles and rows of dead soldiers pervaded the trench. Some had their limbs pulled off; some had claw marks on their skin, that is where it wasn't ripped from the torso; others had bite marks or were pounded into an unsightly mass of flesh and bone.

"None of these attackers have ever been taken dead or alive." Continued M. "However deserters have done sketches from their tormenting memories."

Such a sketch appeared on the screen, it was of a monstrous looking biped that was barely human. The figures facial organs were totally misaligned the teeth pointy and sharp; the hand had been replaced by large claws that had both thick digits and lethal talons. The strength of this creature was well conveyed in the drawing of the muscular body that stood with a simian like gait.

"These are the monstrosities that attack our soldiers en-mass." Said M. "These and the tanks are products of a powerful science division working for the German Military. It's called Unit 11. What I want this League to do is find this Unit 11 and stop it."

All League recruits looked at each other in stunned silence.

Biggles questioned M. "You mean we have to sneak into Germany and find it."

"No!" Replied M. "It's not in Germany. Our observations have revealed another type of war machine."

A new image appeared on the screen; to all but Mors it was a simple Zeppelin.

"These Zeppelins have been traveling in and out of Germany, but they fly south, they've been seen over Africa. As far as we know they have not been used for bombing runs; yet they are much bigger and faster than normal airships. What they're doing is hauling these new scientific monstrosities from their place of construction to the Western Front. Unit 11 is somewhere down south. What I need you to do is get into Captain Mors airship, the _Luftpirat_ , and follow one of these sky giants back home."

"Then put an end to this horror." Added Sir Robert.

Captain Mors stood up. "Everyone is welcome in my ship. But these new zeppelins do look different. I would have to see one in flight before I could say positively that I could follow it."

"That's fine Captain." Said M. "An innovation to help you in this endeavor is being developed. I will explain what it is later."

Irma Vep stood up. "What can you tell us about this Unit 11?" She asked in accented English.

At a signal from M, Richard Hannay operated the slide projector. A photo of a German with intense engaging eyes appeared on the screen.

"This is the head scientist of Unit 11." Narrated M. "His accomplishments before the war are brilliant. It looks like his war time achievements are doubly astounding. He is known as Dr. Totenkopf.

"Unit 11 employs many scientists on site from Germany and elsewhere, most of the latter against their will. There have been noted kidnappings of choice scientists in the past months.

"Dr. Rossum from Bohemia."

Richard Hannay changed the slides with each name to show an image of the said person.

"Cuthbert Calculus from Belgium.

"Jorge Vargas from Spain.

"Dr. Kraft from Denmark and many others. The last one I mentioned was anticipated. Kraft invented the Excelsior, also known as the Himmelskibet (Heaven ship) it flew its crew to Mars and back. Such a brilliant man would be quite useful to Totenkopf. So I sent an agent to watch over him."

"It was Ashenden wasn't it?" Asked Sir Robert.

"Yes it was. He has since disappeared. These are some of the photos he sent us."

The first Ashenden slide showed Dr. Kraft at a science conference. Next slide was the Danish inventor by the huge propeller of the Excelsior. A candid photo of the man walking into his stately home followed, then one taken at the same spot it was of a blonde woman sizing up the house. She was noting every aspect of the street in the following slide.

Irma Vep recognized the behavior as that of a thief planning a heist.

The next photo showed the woman staring straight at the camera as if she spotted it.

"This woman has been identified as Fraulein Doktor, she is a notorious agent of German Intelligence. It looks like she has been assigned to Unit 11, doing forced extractions.

"This was the last photo taken by Ashenden. He sent me these pictures on the day of this photo then we lost all communication, nor could we find him. Kraft disappeared two days later."

Gregor Samsa gave a sad sigh.

Lord Greystoke stood up. "If we are to follow these sky giants we must know where one is."

"That is where the next slide comes in." Said M indicating a photo of a big armoured tank.

"I have anticipated the next kidnapping, a sky giant should be there to carry the target off." Continued M. "It is the inventor of this Great War Tank. He is soon to be on his way from Paris to the Front to test it. They will try to take him while he travels by motorbike; he is American."

The last slide was of the American inventor and he looked like a teenager.

"His name is Tom Swift."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Dirt spat out into the air as the motorcycle wheels tore it from the French roads. Tom Swift was the rider; he traveled down the Gallic highway with all the high exubrance of any bike trip. This splendid feeling was generated by the thrill of riding through the verdant French countrside on this metallic steed augmented by his own tweaking of the engine to make it faster and quieter.

This exubrance was so great that it offset the ominous downers that he was going to the Western Front and a creepy somnambulist had predicted his death. Tom had faced danger many times in his adventurous life and was confident he could handle it. This confidence coupled with his exubrance was the reason he had so recklessly left his security escort behind; that and the high speed of his motorcycle. Clayton Andrews and the rest of the crew would be desperately trying to catch up in their cars and trucks while cursing the rash young inventor.

Doctor Caligari and Cesare were never found despite a city wide manhunt. An autopsy revealed that the courtesan who died in convulsions was poisoned with a tiny tainted needle pressed into her bare shoulder. Tom did recall seeing the hooded woman behind her after she nudged his arm. Inspector Maigret had advised Tom to stay with his escort, but when the souped up bike rockets him across the vast French vista there was no way he would slow himself down for the sake of his bodyguards.

Along the highway Tom would pass troop carriers, supply trucks, ambulances, horse drawn wagons and the occasional French made car. The farmers he had noticed were either woman, children or aged: virtually all the young men were away fighting the war.

A wide area opened up before the rider as the trees that lined the highway ended. Vast paddocks and green hills were now the view, along with the silent cloudy sky.

A bright light on the apex of the highest hill caught Tom's attention. It was as if someone was manipulating mirrors to concentrate the daylight. After stopping the bike, Tom turned a set of binoculars to the hilltop. The figure appearing through the lenses was of a honey blonde woman standing with her arms stretched out and in pain; tears could be made out on her face.

The young inventor realised this image was an enlargement generated by projectors and mirrored screens. There may or may not be an actual woman there. No tormentors or causes of her distress could be seen; continued observation did not provide any further detail to this disturbing vision.

Cesare's prediction of Tom's death began to resonate in the motorcyclist's mind.

"You will die on the morrow unless you go to the blonde woman on the hilltop."

Tom revved up his bike then drove along the road through the hills; he didn't want to end up like the unfortunate patrons in the music hall, nor did he care to follow the advice of that creepy somnambulist. That which turned the bike up the road to the high hilltop was mainly a desire to observe the science that produced the image and to see what is going on.

This road spiraled upwards to the apex, Tom's course took him around the hill several times. It was when he was near the end that he stopped his bike to observe a car beginning its own ascent of the same hill. He could not determine its country of origin; only that it was a four seater with only the front seats occupied. He began to fear a trap: he readied all resources at his disposal for use if necessary.

How the complex system of projectors and mirrored screens worked was not to be known; they were all shut off once Tom reached the hilltop. The honey blonde woman was there, she ceased her act and wiped the tears from her eyes as they met those of Tom Swift, who stayed on his active motorcycle.

It was when the woman placed a hood over her head that the inventor recognised the hooded figure in the Paris music hall. She moved her hand to direct the young American's attention to an upright cabinet nearby; it had enough room for a person and would be more comfortable than Caligari's morbid enclosure. A large ring was fixed to the cabinet's top: Tom realised this was so a cable could attach itself to coffin like container and winch it onto an overhead structure, like an airship.

"You." Yelled the woman to Tom. "Get off that bike and into the cabinet."

Fraulein Doktor was the woman's handle and she was close to another mission success; another scientist will be acquired and brought to her bosses. Those tears she wept were real, all she had to do was regress to sad moment when she observed a horrific gas attack that she had in part facilitated.

An expected response to her demand ensued, The target gave a negative wave of his hand then starting turning his bike around to flee. Two agents came out of their hiding place, after a quick signal from the hooded woman then began to rush the motorcyclist. One stopped in his tracks as electricity suddenly surged through his body: a scream of shock was all he managed as he dropped unconscious. Stunned by his partner's scream, the other agent saw the motorcyclist holding a strange rifle drawn from a holster next to the vehicle's rear fork.

The weapon was called a TASER (Thomas A Swift's Electric Rifle) and a second shot sent the bemused agent's nervous system into paralytic shock, reducing the target's active status to that of a blob of jelly.

A lead bullet passed through the Taser's transistors and wiring just as the second agent was dealt with. Tom had to discard the short circuiting weapon when sparks spat from its battery case. Fraulien Doktor had fired the bullet from her newly drawn Luger pistol. Rage came over the female spy's face, her hood had come off; she directed the gun at Tom and demanded he get off his bike and enter the cabinet.

The all American guy turned his motorcycle to face the determined German spy; she repeated the demand. Tom made a move that gave every indication of switching the engine off: he had augmented this engine himself, and he sneakily set it for a dangerous overdrive.

With the motorcycle turned back towards the armed woman, Tom flipped a switch on the handlebars sending the metal steed charging, without a rider ,at Fraulein Doktor. She could have shot Tom there but her orders were to capture him alive and this evasive strategy stunned her for a second before black smoke flooded out of the oncoming engine and blurred the scene. The missile on wheels did a wheelie like rearing horse about to trample its victim; a swift jump aside by the woman almost cleared its path. A handlebar edge dug into her shoulder knocking Fraulein Doktor to the edge of a precipice behind; the bike collapsed near her feet. It did not stop the engine; as the rear wheel rotated hard when it hit the ground, turning the bike in a sweeping motion towards the fallen spy.

Though she could not resist a scream of terror, a quick recovery and agile jump allowed her to get clear of the sweeping wheel, which sent the downed motorbike over the cliff to a fall onto the road below.

Dust was spat out of her mouth, when the disturbed dirt settled she realised her Luger pistol was lost and so was Tom Swift; he had taken advantage of the smoke and dust to hide amongst the rocks. Her shoulder hurt but she could still use a knife; that brash young inventor would be in the cabinet soon.

Car engine sounds revealed new arrivals soon to be on the scene, but these were drowned out by explosions in the area around the base of the hill. They were bombs dropped from the clouds above. Soon the sky thundered with artillery punctuated by mounted machine gun fire.

The firmament above was a battlefield.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Biggles used the trip to the airfield to demonstrate Gregor's friendly nature and usefulness. Mors was driving the open four seater car, his own; Irma was in the front beside him noting how to drive it. Lord Greystoke, who preferred to be called Tarzan, was in the back telling the airman of his animal friends in the jungles of Africa. Gregor was flying above the automobile.

"Here is one more animal friend for you Tarzan." Said Biggles as he signaled the following insectoid.

"Now all of you observe." Commanded the pilot as he stood up on the seat of the moving car.

Irma looked back while Mors maintained present speed and adjusted his rear view mirror.

The huge bug swooped down to hover just above the back seat. Biggles stretched out his arms as Gregor's limbs clutched his torso and lifted his exuberant friend out of the car into the air. Captain Mors screeched the car to a halt. A highly vocalised thrill was Biggles' reaction as he was carried one hundred feet above then hauled around in a slow loop to sight-see the area before Gregor spiraled down and placed his passenger back in the seat.

"A roller coaster couldn't do any better." Biggles uttered as he caught his breath.

"You're a pilot Biggles." Said Mors. "Flying is normal for you."

"You're a man of the air yourself Captain." Replied Biggles. "Perhaps you could enjoy a ride in Gregor's clutches?"

Mors continued the car trip to the airfield. "Another time. Soon it will be me taking you all for a flight."

Biggles nudged Tarzan. "I'd like to see your elephant friend do that."

The airship stood moored outside the hangar. Irma Vep let out a sigh of wonder at the trip ahead. Mors operated a dashboard radio while driving and relayed a command in Hindustani. All passengers expected a walk across the tarmac to board the giant vehicle, until a ramp lowered down from the gondola and rested on the runway.

"Tell Gregor to follow us in." Said Mors to Biggles.

After the instruction was relayed the car drove up the ramp and came to a halt in the front gallery; Gregor flying in and settling by its side. The ramp closed up behind them.

Irma, Biggles and Gregor were in awe at the furniture and decor of the gondola's interior. Tarzan was already used to it.

"Captain Brieux." Mors called his Executive Officer. "Are we ready to attach the plane?"

"Yes Captain." Said the French aeronaut.

"Good; we will proceed at once and then lift off.

These are my guests. Have Lindo show them to their cabins."

"Yes Captain."

Lindo was one of the many turbaned Indian crewmen. His minimal shock at the sight of Gregor revealed that the crew were used to strange and alien encounters.

Biggles stayed behind to see the plane attachment. The Luftpirat lifted and hovered above a lone bi-plane on the runway then, with utmost precision, lowered until ready clamps snapped shut on grips welded to the plane's fuselage. When the airship lifted the bi-plane was carried along with it. It was a Sopwith Camel complete with Vickers machine guns in the front, a Lewis gun on the cockpit side and Coopers Bombs under its belly. Brieux assured Biggles that special technical advances were made to this plane so that it could be started in mid air without a build up of momentum on the runway.

After settling in their cabins the League members engaged their sense of wonder at, not only the sight of the landscape from high above, but the _Luftpirat's_ interior. The decor was a mixture of European cruise ship style and exotic Eastern artwork. In the control room they all joined Mors and Brieux as they commanded the crew, which was made up mostly of turbaned Indians.

Biggles made out some of the crews' individual functions: one was predicting weather patterns; another was navigating; a third was using instrumentation and reports to monitor mechanical efficiency; communications was clearly another's responsibility and as for the others, they were operating and observing instrumentation that he could not fathom. He was advised by Mors not to enquire, as explanation would be long, ponderous and would require hours of following explanations on top of the first.

"We will be crossing The Channel soon." Announced Mors. " So enjoy the view of the ground below while you have it."

M designated Biggles as leader of the League but while they were on the _Luftpirat_ , Mors was overall Captain.

Viewing both land and sea from above was captivating for The League passengers. Each were given a further treat when Mors showed them an inbuilt telescope that could focus on individuals on the ground, they could be seen as if the viewer was ten feet away.

The place to start looking hard was along the highway from Paris to the Argonne front. When Tarzan heard about this he remembered that his son Korak was serving with the Americans on that battlefield.

Word was received by radio that the individual of concern had foolishly left his escort behind and was speeding onward on his motorcycle. Clouds were over the designated portion of highway monitored; this forced the Luftpirat to fly low to watch for the motorcycle. After one hour it was found: fast vehicle; lone rider. The motorcycle was a Curtiss, an American make; this was their man and the probable subject of a kidnapping: given his current solitary state; that should be soon.

"These clouds are getting thicker." Said Mors. "It will be difficult to maintain our watch for the enemy. I want eyes on the ground."

"What do you mean?" Asked Biggles.

"We will land briefly, then someone will drive the car along the highway at a discreet distance until the enemy makes their move, then report by radio."

Irma Vep stepped forward to volunteer. "I can drive the car myself and operate the radio."

Mors agreed. Biggles assessed the situation and its potential for trouble. "Lord Greystoke, could you go with her please."

Tarzan gathered his bow and quiver of arrows then got into the front passenger seat alongside the cat burglar.

"Remember." Said Biggles. "Do not try to stop or overtake him. He must not see you. When the enemy makes their move then you can show yourselves and act."

A field provided the hovering point for the airship. Irma started the engine as the ramp behind lowered; it was far longer than before. The attached plane would have been crushed if the _Luftpirat_ was any closer to the ground.

"Here we go." Yelled Irma as she reversed the car neatly down the ramp to the field. With all four wheels on Earth she engaged the forward gears, drove the car over the grass to the highway and turned to follow the motorcycle.

With the ramp lifted back, the _Luftpirat_ ascended to the cloudy sky. Scant patches in the misty layer allowed the crew to maintain an irregular observation of the motorcycle.

"Receiving first communication from the car Captain," Said the radio operator.

"Thank you." Answered Mors as he took the speaker. "What is your status Irma?" He said into the device.

Irma Vep's voice blared through the amplifier. "We have attained a disceet distance. Subject is traveling without any notable change. He hasn't noticed us."

"Good." Said Mors into the speaker. "Maintain distance and surveillance."

"Ok." Came the reply.

Mors figured the predicted abduction will happen within an hour. One of the Unit 11 zeppelins will appear to collect Tom Swift. The _Luftpirat_ can then follow it to its base of operations. Biggles and Gregor were to consider themselves on alert.

Clouds dominated the firmament. They were above, below, south, north, east and west; of many shapes and sizes, with various shades of dark grey to milky white. Navigation remained simple despite not seeing the sun or stars, just occasional glimpses of the horizon, but observation of the subject and surrounding sky was difficult.

After half an hour, the sky remaining the same, the next call came in.

"Captain, do you read me?" Irma's voice blared through the amplifier.

"Loud and clear Irma." Said Mors into the speaker.

"The motorcycle has deviated from the main highway and is going up a hill."

"Do you know why?"

"There was a strange bright light on the hilltop he seems compelled to investigate."

"Hold where you are Irma."

Mors commanded his crew to look extra hard for other air traffic while steering the _Luftpirat_ to that hill.

Brieux took a call from the lookout post on top of the Ship's hull.

"Captain." He said. "The lookout has spotted what seems to be a huge zeppelin floating in wait just south of that hill."

The crew redirected their surveillance instrumentation to that point and almost instantly confirmed the sighting.

"Captain, it's more than twice our size." announced the crewman.

"All the better to follow it." Said Brieux.

"Full halt. Hold here." Commanded Mors.

The _Luftpirat_ stopped and hovered among the clouds.

"Come in Irma." Mors spoke into the speaker.

"Yes Captain." Came the reply.

"We have spotted the enemy zeppelin. This is a trap for the young scientist. Do what you can for him."

"On our way Captain." The sound of the car speeding off could be heard over the radio.

Mors turned to his surveillance crew. "Can we focus the scope on that hilltop without being seen by the huge zeppelin?"

"Where working on it Captain." Was the reply.

A few minutes later came the result Mors was waiting for. "We have it Captain."

A look into the scope revealed the hilltop. Although cloud repeatedly rolled past the lens blocking the view for a few seconds at a time. Mors could see the woman with the Luger pistol; the young motorcyclist with a strange rifle and two ambushers who looked like they got struck by lightning. What interested the luftpirate was the upright sarcophagus with a steel loop on its top. Mors deduced that the captured scientist would be bundled into the sarcophagus to be lifted by aerial crane into the large zeppelin, which would take its captive to Unit 11.

Executive Officer Brieux took a blowing communication hose and listened. "Captain Mors, the lookout has just spotted a spy basket hanging from the clouds directly above us."

The luftpirate took on a look of dire seriousness. "Hard to starboard, fast."

Biggles felt the ship lurch to the side as the helmsman quickly moved the craft to the side. An ship wide alarm blared, telling the crew to brace for emergency maneuvers. The bi-plane pilot could not stay on his feet, he fell to the floor. Crewman remained at their posts, they were used to this sudden shifting.

An explosion sounded from the Earth below, a series of similar sounds followed.

One of the crew yelled out after viewing his instrumentation. "Captain. We are being bombarded from above."

"Battle stations." Commanded Mors. "Battle stations."

Several crewmen rushed to alternative posts and instrumentation.

"Forward, full engine." Commanded Mors to the helmsman. "Seek out an updraught. We have to ascend to the height of our attackers."

"Captain." Yelled Biggles. "Gregor can fly above your ship and deflect any bomb that will drop on you."

Mors turned to the big insect. "Gregor, can you do that?" A nod of his head was the response.

"And do something about that spy basket." Mors added. Gregor again responded affirmatively.

"He can do those and then some." said Biggles.

A reserve crewman opened a hatch in the gallery's floor. Gregor sprouted his wings and flew out. The hatch door closed.

"James. I need you to get in the Sopwith Camel, fly it and seek out the enemy's position, then take what action you see fit to help us."

"But I need a runway." Said Biggles.

"Captain Brieux. Take him to the plane."

The French officer took Biggles to the deck above the attached Bi-plane. Mors continued commanding the Ship.

"Monsieur. You do not need a runway." Assured Brieux while opening what seemed to be a drop chute to the Camel's cockpit. "When you're in; start the engine. It won't require cranking. We've done some modifications. After we detach it, the plane becomes a flying machine within a few seconds of it free falling. You should find flying upwards much easier in our souped up special."

Biggles trepidly climbed into the chute and dropped into the Sopwith cockpit. After catching his breath he started the engine and saw the propellers spinning at full throttle in an instant.

"Good luck Monsuier Biggles." Yelled Brieux as closed the chute door.

With his goggles and seat belt on, Biggles felt queasy as the clamps retracted and the plane fell; it maintained its horizontal posture as he tried to treat the falling vehicle like a flying machine. Designed with most of its weight at the front, the Camel soon tipped its nose to the ground and began to dive. Biggles gained control of the plane soon after and pulled out of the dive. He was flying this thing now and began his ascent to the enemy above.

Gregor flew just above the airship'shull giving a brief wave to the lookout on top. Both saw the spy baskets dangling just below the above cloud layer. Yes there were two of them; they were far apart; which means there were two zeppelins trying to bomb the _Luftpirat_. The spy baskets were shaped like fish with the single crewman in a cockpit were the dorsal fin would've been. They were telephoning their target's position and one dangling fish was manouvering above the _Luftpirat_ then came to a halt. The spy gave a firm vocal signal into his telephone mouthpiece and the bombs fell out of the clouds.

The _luftpirats_ hull was metal but just one bomb would rupture it and ignite the volatile gases inside; it would cripple the ship if not destroy it utterly. A much needed evasive turn commenced but Gregor realised several of the bombs would hit.

The insectoid flew fast underneath the deadly payload hoping his personal slipstream would deflect the bombs. It didn't work; they were too heavy and fast. He was going to have to get up close and touch them. Gregor's multi-facet eyes could pinpoint each falling bomb with accuracy: he could,ve caught each one; but he feared they would go off in his face. His flight brought himself alongside the nearest bomb; a light nudge with his front limb, altered its course from a certain impact to a near miss. Gregor found he could calculate instantaneously the downward trajectory before and after his interference, he nudged each bomb consecutively and in a matter of seconds deflected the entire deadly payload away from the fleeing ship. The ground below became an anvil of war's thunderous hammer.

A look up revealed the spy basket was moving to again bring itself above the _Luftpirat._ The other spy basket was positioning itself to drop an interception payload on the airship's current course. Gregor flew upward to deal with that basket. His course took him to a point horizontal with the dangling fish he didn't want his approach to be seen. The other spy would be aware of him and would thus be relaying a warning from telephone to zeppelin, then to other zeppelin then down to the fish's telephone. Lack of believability would delay the message.

This was the one post on a zeppelin a crewman could smoke and this one was lighting up as soon as he finished the previous cigarette. His eyes were on the _Luftpirat_ below. Gregor darted towards him as the telephone rang. The smoking crewman took the call then screamed as the giant insect picked him up out of the cockpit and threw him into the cloudy void below. He did not have a parachute just a maddening scream as he plummeted down. Gregor severed the telephone line then flew away as the spy basket was winched up.

The occupant of the other spy basket drew a pistol as he screamed into the phone. He managed a brief look down then gave the signal for another bombardment of the target below then continued his plea to be winched up, he saw the monstrous looking gremlin approach.

Gregor heard a pistol firing and felt a bullet bounce off his exoskeleton, he flew fast and brushed past the spy basket cockpit, buffeting the airman. It took a few seconds for the observer to re-orient himself while the insectoid flew back landed on the dangling fish and severed two of the four suspension cables. The spy basket jerked ninety degrees to the left, nearly pouring its occupant out to a long fall.

Sheer panic overtook the German upon close up sight of the giant bug. He had dropped his pistol. Gregor could have squatted him dead then and there, but a fresh payload of bombs began to drop towards the _Luftpirat_ below. The insect man spat out digestive fluid onto each of the two remaining suspension cables, then darted downwards to deal with the bombs.

The crewman clung onto the tipped spy basket for his life while yelling at the top of his lungs to be winched up. After a minute, where everyone must have been preoccupied with the bomb dropping, the metallic fish began to ascend. Whatever relief the crewman felt was overrun by horror when one of the two intact suspension cables snapped. Only his grip on a loose belt at the cockpit rim stopped him from falling to his death. He then understood the reason for the bug's digestive fluid on the cables; it was acidic saliva for breaking down seized prey into digestible matter; and it was eating through the cables. Smoke and bubbles emanated from the tainted stretch of the last suspension cable.

A pre-emptive yell bellowed from the desperate man's lungs as he was winched through the clouds. He saw the welcome darkness of the zeppelin's gondola when the cable snapped. When he fell with the spy basket, he could yell no more.

Gregor's downward speed was faster than the falling bombs. Although the timing of their drop was born of desperation, a few would hit the moving _Luftpirat_. He would use his keen multi- faceted vision again and judge those bombs that would hit the metal hull then deflect them. A slight nudge with his limbs and the bombs fell clear. Gregor seized one of the metal explosives in his pincer and carried it to his next task.

The _Luftpirat_ had found an updraught and was ascending. Biggles was also climbing high. They would both soon breach the upper stratus and face those zeppelins.

As Gregor expected, the other spy basket lowered beneath the cloud layer with a repaired phone line. Two men were in the big fish now; one with binoculars, the other with a rifle. It was cramped but someone had to continue the observation while the other could deal with the reported aerial monster. They each lit a cigarette while Gregor approached, then they saw him. Both cigarettes fell from their mouths. The rifleman aimed at the oncoming gremlin. Gregor swerved to avoid the bullet. He did, but subsequent shots were fast and many. One bullet hit his exoskeleton, it didn't penetrate but it hurt.

Gregor flew under the spy basket to keep out of the line of fire, then darted upwards. They would hear him coming. A quick semi-circular side trip during his climb allowed the insectoid to be briefly seen by the alert crewman. A rifle shot fired at the space Gregor was a millisecond before. The man-insect appeared on the other side of the dangling fish and hovered level to it, for a second he had their backs. They saw him and as the rifle was moved awkwardly in the cramped cockpit, Gregor hurled the bomb then darted away. As the nose of bomb's nose hit the metal fish, the impact fuse detonated. The explosion splattered the spy basket and its two occupants to the four winds along with a burst of fire.

Neither zeppelin had eyes below the cloud line now; they will not know that their target is rising to height at there level for a face to face engagement. Gregor flew into the upper stratus to aid in the fight.

Captain Mors felt his fighting spirit lift as the _Luftpirat_ rode the updraught to the stratus above. He had narrowly missed being bombed into fiery oblivion from above: the man-insect's contribution to his crew's safety was much appreciated. Soon he will face his attacker.

"Turn three degrees starboard." He commanded. "I want to be facing them when we see them."

Gregor's contact with the spy baskets was observed. They know roughly where the enemy is now, and they won't see the _Luftpirat_ coming. Biggles will clear the stratus much the same time.

Clouds of grey and white blanketed the view for a second as the _Luftpirat_ rose through the misty layer. Once cleared The crew found themselves facing two zeppelins; Mors recognised them from his brief moments within the German military. They were the _Fafnir_ and the _Fasolt_ and the former was commanded by Captain von Gorian.

Although German zeppelins usually had numeric identities, the reign of Kaiser Homunculus brought back taking names from German legend. The two giants from The Ring cycle had the honours here.

Mors' spyglass revealed their armaments: each zeppelin had a nest on the top of their gasbag with three crewmen; two of these had a Parabellum mounted machine gun; the other he couldn't see.

"Set up the Lewis gun on the port side of our front gallery." He commanded.

Two crewmen brought in the incendiary machine gun and spent a minute mounting it on the window sill.

Both zeppelins turned their broadside to the _Luftpirat_ ; they couldn't bomb an enemy that wasn't below them but now both Parabellums on each nest could pelt the _Luftpirat_ with heavy ballistics. All four machine guns concentrated on the metal hull; they couldn't pierce it, but each thud produced a loud clang. Virtually each crewman had to block their ears to avoid the sound of a metallic rainstorm.

Biggles plane cleared the stratus to see the situation. The battle had begun. The daring pilot steered his plane towards the _Fasolt_.

Captain Mors and his crew heard a thunderous noise punctuating that of the Parabellum hits. It was mortar fire, that was the weapon employed by the third man in each nest. These mortar shells had timed fuses as well as impact fuses, those that would not hit the target would explode near it. One such explosion smashed the thick glass on the front gallery and sent the shards flying into the interior. Lindo rushed to two crewmen blinded by the glass shower, they had finished erecting the Lewis gun. After telling the crewman to stay down, he fired the weapon at the _Fafnir_.

No aerial stability could be maintained; whether those mortar shells hit or missed they buffeted the _Luftpirat_ this way and that. Those shots that hit tore panels off the metal hull. Mors noticed some torn away panel fall, confirming the dreadful news of the impacts he heard. Those points without a panel were dangerous spots of vulnerability. A second hit with a mortar shell at those spots would definately produce a major conflagration of our volatile gases, destroying the airship utterly. Parabellum fire on those spots may also bring that disastrous effect.

"Turn the ship ninety degrees starboard." Ordered Mors. "They mustn't keep firing on our damaged side."

This command had begun to be executed when a mortar shot hit one of the wing screws, damaging it. Black smoke spat from its hub.

"Captain." Yelled a steersman. "That hit on our wing screw has slowed our turn severely."

"Keep trying." Mors replied.

With their vulnerable side exposed longer their situation was bad. Some Parabellum gunfire from the _Fafnir_ entered the gondola; it tore through the glass casing and killed a crewman manning his post. Other crewmen quickly hit the floor as following machine gun fire sprayed the inside.

Parabellums in the _Fafnir_ nest fired with relish until one gunner realised he was the only one firing.

"Don't stop now." he said to his partner. "We've got them ducking for cover. They're not moving. They're a sitting duck."

A look to his side turned his confidence to horror. A dark shelled being, tall as a man but with all the physical traits of an insect had snipped open his fellow gunner's throat with his frontal pincers. The mortar man hadn't noticed the bug intruder and was about to fire his weapon as per usual when a bug forearm swung into his back, knocking the artillery man out of the nest, the momentum sent him into a helpless roll down the zeppelin's circumference towards an inevitable fall to his death.

Gregor moved on the last gunner; who swung the Parabellum to aim at the monstrosity. A swipe from the pincered forearm knocked the machine gun off its fixed tripod and out of the nest. The gunner reached for his Luger pistol but a barbed tarsus skewered his chest before even touching it.

Captain Mors watched, through his spyglass, Gregor throwing the mortar and remaining Parabellum out of the nest then depart.

Firing from the _Fasalt_ continued for a short while until the gunners noticed the Sopwith Camel shooting incendiary bullets into the zeppelin's side.

Biggles had achieved the perfect flight angle to fire the bi-plane's Lewis gun at the _Fasolt's_ gasbag. Several volleys of incendiary bullets hit the large target when Biggles, with a sense of stupendous victory, saw a small explosion. Now the fire will spread and multiply in a matter of seconds, that was an expectation that dampened when the fire snuffed out without spreading.

He would have tried again, but a Parabellums in the top nest made him a target. Biggles swerved his plane to a course underneath the gasbag and under the Parabellum range. Crewmen in the _Fasolt's_ gondola could be seen setting up Maxim machine guns to shoot him down. Biggles dived underneath the gondola then leveled out to fly outwards past the zeppelin.

Captain Mors noticed that his Lewis gun had only minor effect on the _Fafnir_ gasbag. Lindo fired volley after volley into it with only little fires breaking out that were extinguished after only a second. Unit 11 must have invented a new innovation to stop fire spreading and put it out before they ignite all the hydrogen.

Biggles also realised this new lack of vulnerability for zeppelins and decided to make his assault on the gasbag more profound. He flew back towards it on a level with the gun nest. One of the Parabellums fired his way. Biggles had to work fast, those guns can be swung while firing. The young pilot had become a crack shot with the Vickers machine gun while flying. Parabellum bullets shot a stream only a foot left of his wing, when the gunner tried to shift his aim, he fired low and the bullets went under the approaching Sopwith. Biggles flew with precision and got the hostile gunner into his sights. Bullets spat out of the Vickers and tore into their target, the impact propelling him out of the nest.

Turning the Vickers on the other two nest occupants was attempted but they wisely ducked under the ramparts. Biggles steered the plane upwards and achieved a reasonable height above the _Fasolt_. The remaining two crewmen in the nest re-emerged; while the mortar man just observed, the gunner turned his Parabellum away from the _Luftpirat_ and aimed it at the Sopwith Camel above; he had to crouch while firing. A stream of bullets tore through the bi-plane's wing.

Biggles pleaded with his strafed aircraft. "Come on; just hold together for a few seconds more."

He was almost at the crucial point above the _Fasolt_ when he saw the mortar man swiftly put on a parachute and leave the nest for a desperate run down the arc of the zeppelin hull. That guy knew what was about to happen. The bi-plane reached the appointed spot and Biggles released two Coopers bombs in succession. He wanted to swerve back and drop more but his damaged wing looked as if it would not manage it.

The Parabellum gunner saw the bombs falling and ducked under the ramparts for cover despite the obvious futility of that act. The first bomb hit the nest directly blowing that small fortress to oblivion.

Whistling its last few metres of descent, the second bomb hit the zeppelin's top surface, detonating with an explosion that near instantaneously ignited several hydrogen cells. Fire burst out of the hull as its structure was torn away with each following explosion. This was the profound hit Biggles was trying to affect; no innovation could extinguish or contain these major conflagrations. Within seconds the explosions multiplied and pursued the mortar man running along the doomed hull for his life. He got to his point on the airship's arc where gravity would clear him away from the all consuming inferno; a desperate jump was achieved before that portion of the hull exploded where his feet were a millisecond ago. The flames leapt out and incinerated him just as his fall commenced.

Fiery explosions continued as fast as a line of dominoes fell and they intensified as the front, rear portside and starboard each became a mass of flames. Further conflagrations ripped through the gondola; all sections became a sudden inferno. The entire crew were dead in an instant.

Captain Mors and his crew felt the burst of hot air along with a shockwave that buffeted the _Luftpirat_.

Biggles also felt the centrifugal force of those escalating explosions. He was clear of the leaping fires but the energy tore at his damaged wing; it broke, collapsing into a mess of torn fibre and loose wires that held the now useless appendage like a dangling streamer. No directional control was possible now.

A small bang brought attention to a fire in the main engine. The fuel line must have jarred loose during the zeppelin explosion underneath. Fire soon spread throughout the front of the Sopwith Camel, it would reach the cockpit in seconds. There was a parachute under the seat but Biggles was blinded by black smoke flooding out of the engine. A grope for it was cut short when a flame burnt his hand. It was almost on him, he could feel the heat as the fire squeezed through the dashboard.

The doomed pilot drew his pistol and brought it to his head, he was going to spare himself an agonising death by fire. A sharp slap knocked the firearm out of his hand. Biggles felt himself lifted out of the cockpit, his seat belt severed. Familiar limbs seized his torso and carried him away. It was Gregor, lifting him clear of the burning plane which began its spiral course downwards, a trail of black smoke in its wake.

Captain Mors turned his attention away from the _Fasolt_ , it was now a burning hulk that began its fall to Earth. The luftpirate prayed that no village, farm or cottage was underneath.

"Turn twelve degrees starboard." He commanded. "Can we do that with our current damage?"

"Yes Captain." Replied the steersman.

Mors turned to another crewman, all who were alive and unwounded had resumed their posts. "Is our forward maneuverability in any way impaired?"

"No Captain, that is intact."

"And our backward capability." Asked Mors. "How's that?"

After a brief confirmation with the instrument panel, the crewman said. "It is good Captain."

Mors turned his spyglass on the _Fafnir_. They had tried to re-man the gunnery nest but it would have to be re-armed. Maxim machine gun were fired from the gondola, but their effect was next to nothing, only occasional volley into the gallery threatened the crew. The zeppelin turned around, it was going to flee.

Captain von Gorian was spotted through the spyglass, he was watching Mors through his binoculars. The two captains watched each other like two pitbulls about to fight.

No von Gorian." Yelled Mors. "I will not let you walk away so you can surprise me from above again."

Mors turned to his crew. "Ram them. Ram the engines at the rear of the gondola."

"Yes Captain." Replied the unquestioning crew. 

As the _Luftpirat_ pushed forward, the ram alarm blared so all crew not in the gallery could brace for impact.

"Mon Captain." Protested Brieux. "If we ram a hydrogen giant, it could explode and take us with it."

"Not if we do it at this angle." Answered Mors. "And we back away quickly. Tell the lookout to get inside."

Brieux got to the communication hose and relayed the order.

Captain von Gorian was again seen through the spyglass. He would've seen the pointy steel ram plate on the front of the fast approaching _Luftpirat_ and that it had accelerated to a phenomenal speed for its short ram run. Gorian knew what was coming and that Mors was watching him. There were no orders given for trying to evade the ram, nor did he call to abandon ship. He just fixed a hateful stare on his approaching antagonist and did nothing else.

The ram plate first hit a steering fin, snapping it off from the hull, which gave way when the ram pushed on. Mors could hear the metal framework buckle and break as the shell tore. The ram continued to tear the structure along the zeppelins belly as frames were either torn from their joints or snapped apart then bent back to make way for the ram plate that then wrenched a propeller from the hull. Only after the gondola's rear was smashed into was the destructive momentum spent. All of the _Fafnir_ 's crew who saw it coming abandoned their posts and fled to the front.

"Full reverse now." Commanded Mors.

All the _Luftpirat_ 's engines changed gear faster than any war zeppelin could manage and in a few seconds achieved a backward velocity brought the ship away from its rammed target. Mors smelt Blaugas shower the _Luftpirat_ from ruptured fuel bags. This fuel had a volatility of its own. Ramming the zeppelin's belly kept the _Luftpirat_ clear of the hydrogen cells which were typically sitting in the upper half of the hull.

The _Fafnir_ now had little if any control facility and no aerial worthiness, it began to gyrate. It would be virtually impossible to land. Crewmen began to jump out of the gondola and parachute down. Mors pondered firing a flare at the hull rip they created, thus igniting the spilt blaugas, starting a fire that would doubtless reach the hydrogen cells and destroy the flying war machine utterly.

He didn't have to ponder long. A stray spark from the damaged framework ignited the volatile gas, setting the lower hull ablaze. As expected the hydrogen cells erupted and set the sky on fire. The burning hulk began its descent; Mors judged that the parachuters would be clear of its determined crash site.

"Captain." bellowed a crewman. "That large airship we noticed above the hill; it's leaving, heading due south."

"Can we pursue it?"

The crewman analysed the readings on his instrument panel then announced. "Negative Captain it's traveling twice as fast as we can."

Mors rushed to the panel and did his own reading. It confirmed the crewman's finding. This Unit 11 is producing more advanced technology than he had.

Another concern had Mors looking through the telescope to see what happened on the hilltop, but thick smoke from the battle obscured his view.

"The young inventor, Tom Swift." He asked himself. "Did they get him?"


	12. Chapter 12

**LOXG 12**

Irma Vep got a thrill from driving the open four seater car. As soon as the wheels hit the Earth she drove with both competence and ecstasy. This specially made automobile was far smoother and faster than anything on the streets of Paris.

It was good that the motorcycle she and Lord Greystoke were tailing was also fast; she could maintain a discreet distance and keep up the joyous velocity. The radio was also easy to use.

Both Irma and Tarzan saw the strange light on the hilltop, they couldn't make out the image but saw its effect on Tom Swift. The motorcyclist was veering of his current course to ascend the hill. Irma stopped the car and called Captain Mors on the radio. After reporting her observation to the luftpirate, he asked her to stay on hold for a minute then blared out his confirmation that this is the trap and that she and Tarzan should help the young inventor evade it.

An enemy zeppelin was floating above that hill to receive Tom Swift, they must get to the hilltop and intervene before that happens.

Irma relayed her Ok then revved the car to a high speed and drove to the hill.

"This is it Greystoke." She said. "The trap is on that hilltop. We're about to engage the enemy. I hope you can use that bow and arrow well."

"I can." Answered Greystoke. "You call me Tarzan."

Irma grinned as she steered the car off the main highway and began their ascent up the hill road. She had to hold back on the speed. This spiral road was narrow and their were no railings to stop a vehicle going over the edge.

Tom will get to the top before them and the trap will spring. Irma hoped the young man could delay his capture long enough for them to arrive.

They were almost there when the sound of a pistol shot came from the top. Shortly after that a riderless motorcycle fell from the pinnacle, it scraped the cliff on the way down and landed on the road twenty meters in front of the car. The two League members turned to each other as Irma slowed the automobile to a halt. A spinning back wheel and engine sounds told them that the motorcycle was active. Although it was wrecked beyond repair, the gyrating wheel dragged the bike across the road's width to a second fall over the next edge. An almighty crashing sound followed.

There was clearly some excitement above. Irma put her foot on the accelerator to cover the remaining distance fast. Multiple explosions began to dot the surrounding area. Irma stopped the car to view the green fields getting churned up as bombs, dropped from above, thunderously tore the ground asunder.

"Captain Mors has his fight." said Irma. "We must get on with ours."

She stepped hard on the pedal to quickly finish the car's journey to the pinnacle. When it was reached, Irma screeched the vehicle to a halt as she noticed a familiar figure in a white coat observing them. This was Fraulein Doktor; Irma recognised her from the Denmark photographs.

A sound signal beeped from the Fraulein's white coat and a corresponding alarm rang from the upright sarcophagus, which was empty.

Irma read the scene and deduced that Tom Swift had hidden himself in the rocks, the German spy was seeking him out to force him into the sarcophagus thus securing his capture. The alarm was a recall, Fraulien Doktor is to get herself into the sarcophagus so she could be winched up to the zeppelin and spirited away.

The cat burgler jumped out of the car and rushed the blonde spy who was making her escape. Irma intercepted her ten feet before the upright cabinet, seized her white coat and threw her back. Fraulein Doktor swung with her knife but Irma dodged the swipes with dexterous grace, then used her Savate skill. A left handed feint from Irma had her opponent lash out at the fast withdrawing limb while the right hand chopped down on the attacking wrist. The spy's hand shuddered with pain and dropped the knife.

Irma Vep felt a surge of rare patriotism as she landed further Savate hits and kicks on the German spy. Fraulein Doktor could only deflect half the martial art blows but held herself together until an opening came. The black clad woman stopped her attack for an instant to kick the dropped knife away, Fraulein rushed her then and pushed her off balance. Irma tried to reposition her feet only to miss the ground and find herself tumbling down a short slope to a soft landing in the dirt.

She got to her feet quickly to see Fraulein Doktor priming a stick grenade. This cat burgler could walk up the steepest rooftops with assured ease; this slope would be much the same, she ascended it with swift professional steps. Irma took hold off the primed grenade before the shocked spy could drop it down the slope. They wrestled for possession of the bomb before it was flung aside, landing at the light projection machine.

The explosion totally destroyed the intricate assemblage of lenses, mirrors and globes. Both women were hurled back by the centrifugal force each ending up face down in the dirt.

Tarzan confidently allowed Irma to engage the spy alone; he was trying to sense where Tom Swift was hiding. The grenade exploding brought his attention back to the conflict that stunned each antagonist.

Movement to the left was two men getting up after being knocked out somehow. They muttered in German as they noticed Irma Vep in a state of recovery after menacing their boss. One brought out his pistol. Tarzan did not wait to see where the Hun was going to aim. The jungle lord stretched his bow and sent an arrow into the gunman's chest; he dropped dead immediately.

A second arrow was drawn but the next target took cover behind a rock. Tarzan approached the shielding edifice not knowing if the mark was armed or not. His bow was stretched ready to fire in an instant, it was held out in front of him.

When the bow cleared the rock a swung club hit the weapon and knocked it out of his hands, the Hun revealed himself as he executed a second swing. Tarzan stepped back to avoid the club, it worked but his foe stepped close so his third attack would hit. An agile duck spared the jungle lord a smashed head; he leaped forward and grappled the Hun. The club was dropped as the wrestling began.

This German was strong but could not match Tarzan's much developed musculature he wisely avoided getting caught in any bodily grips. After several rolls and opposing pushes he found himself face to face with the primordial savage. A swift headbutt stunned Tarzan for an instant, as he refocused his eyes he saw his antagonist bring out a knife. Quickly seized the offending arm before it could stab, Greystoke spun around, dragging his foe with him to throw him off balance. This suceeded and the seized arm had a little slack.

Tarzan bit into the limb and severed a main tendon. The knife fell from the limp fingers. Screams shrieked from injured man until a fierce blow to his throat silenced him.

Germans had burnt down Tarzan's homestead in Kenya at the war's beginning, murdered his servants and took away his wife. His hatred for them became unmanageable and to this day he still had trouble managing it. He found a little self control to not finish of this Hun who was now badly injured.

He moved away from the fallen enemy to observe a huge explosion in the sky. A burst of orange fell through the cloud layer.

Although his back was turned, Greystoke sensed the injured Hun had picked up his knife with his good arm and was sneaking up on him. He swerved the instant before the stab and seized the resolute foe jerking him off balance then slamming him into a nearby monolith.

Tarzan's rage returned in abundance, he picked up his stunned and bloodied opponent, lifted him high in the air then threw him over the cliff to the roads below.

Irma Vep recovered her senses to see that action; she grinned at the jungle lords primordial savagery.

The upright sarcophagus began its ascent into the clouds, it was empty. Fraulein Doktor was in despair: she had failed to acquire the mark; was now being left behind; her assistants were dead; and the black clad woman was continuing the fight.

The Savate kicks and blows were hurting and the spy could not get a return blow through the French woman's defences. A well delivered blow sent the Fraulein into backward fall. As her hand groped the ground it found her lost Luger pistol. She gripped the weapon and got to her feet while back stepping.

Irma saw the pistol and knew she had to act fast. Quick steps closed the distance between her and her foe. As Fraulein leveled the Luger, Irma executed a lateral kick that met the gun hand a second before it squeezed the trigger. The gun flew from Fraulien's hand, the bullet went wide though Irma felt its proximity.

Fraulein Doktor bent down to recover the weapon; a strong kick in the chest ended that hope and sent the spy sprawling on her back. Irma unsheathed a wrist blade and then sat on top of her enemy. The spy also had a concealed blade, she would reach for it after she gives a plea for compassion from her antagonist who was bringing the knife to her throat.

Being a spy required a skill in eliciting compassion from people, even enemies as was the case now. Fraulien Doktor gave a look of fear and helplessness, made child-like sounds, shed tears, even said "Please" in French.

Her efforts soon gave way to horror as she looked into the dark shaded eyes of Irma Vep. This woman had no compassion to give. The knife hand made its move.

Tarzan found Tom Swift hiding in the rocks, grabbed the young inventor by the scruff of the neck and brought him out into the open.

Tom didn't feel any better off, the Germans were gone, but he was now in the hands of a savage man with a bloodied mouth and brought before a black clad woman with a bloodied knife.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

M's voice filtered through the _Luftpirat's_ radio. He had been briefed on the battle in the sky and on the hilltop.

"Well, I wasn't expecting this mission to go smoothly and simply. It's no revelation that not even your airship could follow those sky giants home. I have prepared for this setback. A new innovation will be presented to you soon.

"Here is what I want you to do: first, hand young Tom Swift over to his escort; second, fly the _Luftpirat_ to Sheffield for immediate repairs and re-plating; then finally, with my arranged transport, meet me at a certain forest abode. I have assembled some scientists to help you out. Bring Gregor.

"Further details will be relayed to you. Goodbye for now."

Captain Mors gave his acknowledgment then handed the radio back to its operator.

Turning Tom Swift over to his escort seemed simple enough but once Tarzan and Irma brought him aboard the _Luftpirat_ he was captivated by the marvelous engineering behind it all. He had correctly ascertained the function of each device on the flight deck, then, while all heads were turned during M's communication he slipped away to get a good look at the engines.

The young inventor had designed and constructed a few airships himself, so if he could understand just half the science behind the _Luftpirat_ then he could surpass all previous designs and those of his rivals. A new sense of wonder overcame him when he entered the engine room. Pistons and turbines was the expected sight but what he saw was beyond comprehension. Something akin to electricity passed between terminals and along cables.

This sight made Tom feel like an amateur, until he realised that this construct included extra-terrestrial components that no-one on Earth could copy except Captain Mors.

A crewman assigned to engine maintenance approached Tom. He was not Indian he was black; he introduced himself as Izzy Buttons a pilot and mechanic.

"Tom." Said Izzy. "Don't bother trying to understand this science. When either of us build airships in the years ahead, we will be restricted to earthly materials."

Two Indian crewmen entered the engine room and seized Tom before dragging him kicking and screaming to the front gallery and Captain Mors.

"I see you are taking a very keen interest in my ship Tom." Said Mors. "It is a pity that your visit here must end so soon. We must hand you over to the escort you left behind. They are beneath us now."

Biggles came in just as Mors returned to the control room. The pilot was smeared with smoke and coughed relentlessly, his movement was sluggish revealing he should be in a hospital.

"Greetings Tom." He managed to say through his coughs. "This ship will not be landing. You will be carried down to the road by my friend here."

When Tom saw Gregor Samsa enter the gallery he wanted to run, but the two Indian crewman maintained their strong grip on his shoulders.

"Tom, you are in no danger." Coughed out Biggles. "This is Gregor. He lifted me out of my burning plane to safety. He will carry you safely to Earth.

"Show him Gregor." The giant insect wrapped his limbs around the pilot's torso and lifted him as he sprouted wings from his exoskeleton and hovered six feet in the air. A few seconds later Biggles was returned to the deck.

Captain Brieux opened a trap door with nothing but extreme height below it.

"Goodbye Tom and good luck with the great war tank." Coughed out Biggles.

The young American winced when he found himself in the giant insect's clutches. His discomfort became horror when the winged monstrosity flew out the trap door to the dizzying heights. Within ten seconds of flight, Tom's fear became a marvelous thrill that no Coney Island ride could match. A cowboy like shrill of exaltation blared from his throat.

When the flight ended with his feet on the road, Tom faced the armoured flier.

"That was awesome Gregor. Can we do that again."

Gregor gave a gesture of negative and of sorry. The insect man sprouted his wings and flew back up towards the _Luftpirat._

Two cars arrived on the scene minutes later, they were the escort that Tom recklessly left behind. An enraged Clayton Andrews got up off his seat to face him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Morning in the English forest had a delightful tranquility when compared to the war ravaged skies of France. Captain Mors was far from his airship which was now being re-plated. A private train had taken him, Irma Vep and Gregor Samsa to a quiet station in the countryside; from there they were to go east through the forest.

A soft westerly breeze caressed the verdant green fronds and leaves that decorated the natural landscape. Gentle birdsong emanated from the plush canopy, which filtered the Sun so that bright rays of sunlight illuminated the forest floor. Butterflies fluttered through the rays to draw nectar from the many flowers, Rabbits and squirrels were seen darting away from the visitors' path.

"This forest is vast." Said Irma. "I hope we get some idea of where we're going."

Mors turned to her. "M was rather vague as to where we should precisely go. There should be method to his madness."

"We could be wondering through these woods for days. I haven't seen a single signpost and the walking trails are getting fainter and fainter."

"M strikes me as someone who knows what he is doing."

Irma grinned. "He strikes me as someone who has had too much brandy and cigars."

The domino mask dropped over Mors' face obscuring his reaction to the women's scrutiny.

Gregor began to gyrate his limbs, Mors could tell that he was receiving a new stimulus untypical of the forest. The Insect man directed his two companions to a clearing. Once there Gregor gestured Mors and Irma to stay put, then spread his wings flew up above the tree roofs and traveled further east.

"He's must be going to investigate something nearby." Said Mors.

"Or leaving us to remain completely lost." Uttered Irma.

Ten minutes later the large flying bug hovered above the clearing then spiraled down to a light landing with a cigar clenched in his pincer. It was the same type used by M.

"You found M Gregor. Can you lead us there?" Asked Mors.

Gregor nodded negatively then opened up all his limbs inviting both Mors and Irma to enter his clutches.

Both Mors and Irma had to overcome a great deal of reluctance, but both realised this was their way to finish a long forest hike that had a dwindling appeal.

"You can carry two people at once?" Asked Irma.

Gregor nodded affirmatively. Each individual pressed their backs to the pulsating insect abdomen then felt the limbs clamp them to the bug body, The sound of the wings vibrating was met with trepidation and the lifting sensation awkward as the ground went further and further away from their feet.

Once they were above the forest canopy a sense of exileration and wonder cut in. Irma found the experience much more exciting than standing over the rooftops of Paris at night. Mors was no stranger to flying, but beforehand had always had a solid surface beneath his feet, this was totally different and much more stimulating. His only regret was, he had no control over where he was going.

Their destination was a compound a little to the east. It was a small number of wooden buildings amidst the woods. Gregor landed with ease, his two passengers smiling.

M was there, he greeted the League members. "It seems you enjoyed your trip."

The two new arrivals only nodded, being much to exhilerated to speak. Gregor gave his usual nod of affirmative.

"Now to verify your communications: Biggles is in hospital being treated for smoke inhalation and Lord Greystoke has taken the opportunity to visit his son posted to the Argonne front. Tom Swift has been returned to his escort and is probably now testing his Great War tank on the same front?"

"That is all correct." Stated Captain Mors.

"And Fraulein Doktor is dead." Added Irma Vep.

"Right." Said M. "I'll want you all together again soon.

"I drew Gregor here with a lure for his olfactory senses to pick up on. I wanted to test the concept; that's why your travel directions were vague. I have commissioned some chemists to expand this concept which hopefully will allow Gregor to track one of those super zeppelins back to its base of operations."

"You can't leave breadcrumbs in hundreds of miles of sky." Mors said.

"We believe it can be done." Uttered a small yet robust man stepping out a building. "The chemical lure would have to be strong, the wind light, the pursuit fast and the hound on the ball." He indicated Gregor.

M introduced the man in the lab coat."This is Andrew Blodgett Mayfair."

"They can call me Monk." Said the man.

"He is one of three chemists from America who have accepted this commission to manufacture the chemical tracking agent."

Monk Mayfair had a small stature but very large arms with plush rusty red hair cascading out of his lab coat sleeves. His head matched his arms in that they both gave the impression of being ape-like rather than human. His friendly smile and squeaky voice reminded the visitors that he was human. A silver sword emblem sewn onto his shirt revealed that he had done service in the American infantry.

"The other two can show themselves now." Said M.

Monk yelled for the two other lab coated chemists to come out. The two fgures came out of separate buildings. Paul Carruthers was the first introduced, he was carrying the carcass of a bat he was experimenting on. His greeting conveyed origins more middle European than American. Jonathon Crane sounded all American but his greeting came with overtones and a grin that suggested wickedness. he positioned himself in front of a vegetable garden with a crudely built human effigy to keep thieving birds away.

Paul Carruthers said. "This project to make a pheromonal agent to draw a beast to a select target is just up my alley. It is an almost irresistable challenge."

Jonathon Crane cut in. "We should make them fear us."

Monk answered. "If we did that they would stay out of our reach. Then they cannot be dealt with."

"I am a cosmetic chemist." Continued Paul Carruthers. "Sounds like you want a specially powerful perfume M. I hear perfumers have been employed by your order before?"

M was uncomfortable, he clearly did not want to go where the conversation was leading. An abrupt change of subject was in order. "The Captain and the burglar will join me in devising a way to attach the completed compound to it target. Gregor here will join you three in perfecting the said product and do not refer to him as a beast."

The three chemist showed little shock at the sight of Gregor Samsa, they had been braced for the bizarre vision. They took the man insect into their laboratory for a series of tests.

The discussion about attaching the finished compound to a super zeppelin amounted to pretty much what M said. "I'll tell you where to find one but after that you're the airship captain and you're the catburglar. You figure it out."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Doctor Mabuse's eyes could focus on the control switches of a human mind. A handy gift when it came to gambling in the city's underbelly. Right now those eyes viewed the awe inspiring vista of the Berlin Metropolis. Skyscapers stood high in the firmament as if they conquered heaven in the name of the Kaiser. Bridges between the many building allowed the public to walk or drive through the clouds. Bi-planes flew amidst the architecture along with mini blimps as normal aerial traffic.

Germany's leader had spirited him from the Berlin underworld and given him a special office as part of a League called The Twilight Heroes. The other members of this grouping were off doing other work, his current task was down below.

As soon as his valet showed up bearing an armful of files, Mabuse stepped into the elevator signallng him to follow. As the lift descended he turned to his burdened servant.

"Those are the right files?" He asked.

"Yes, Of course." Said the valet who dared not give any other answer.

The doors opened to a security checkpoint. Berlin prison's warden greeted Dr Mabuse and ushered he and his valet through the guarded entrance with minimal procedure. Dr Mabuse was a career criminal, he figured one day he would end up here, but not like this, as an honoured visitor holding official authority.

"You must understand Herr Mabuse that this is highly irregular." Complained the warden. "What your here to do is what no civilized government should stoop to do."

Mabuse's eyes focused on the scrutinising warden. "This has been authorised by the highest office in response to demanding times. You have an abundance of human resources in your facility. To employ just a few should be revered rather than scorned. Yet we only want one. That's not asking too much is it?"

The warden found his mind hopelessly jumbled; in his confusion he could only find sense in approval, thus taking a more co-operative stand with the mesmerising figure staring at him.

"This way gentlemen." The warden ushered the visitors through a guarded cell block entrance.

A two man cell was the first to be viewed.

The warden introduced the inmates. "May I present Franz Biberkopf and Max Grundeis. Perhaps one of these will suit your purposes."

Mabuse read the two prisoners as they got of their bunks, but he was waiting for an informative report from his valet, who was now flicking furiously through his carried files. The intense stare veered away from the two criminals and took on a scowl at the inept valet. His last cocaine fix was clearly too recent.

Panic overcame the valet as he noticed Mabuse's scornful look which pretty much said. "Swinehund; I'll send you back to the trenches you worthless junky."

The valet stopped his flicking and said."We don't have their files were in the wrong section."

"What are these two?" Mabuse demanded of the warden.

"Franz Biberfopf is a pimp. Max Grundeis is a thief."

"I did not come here to review every felon you have." Yelled Mabuse. "I'm here to see your murderers. Though I see a leaning towards murder for Franz here. I must insist that you take me to your wing that holds murderers. Show me your murderers."

A short walk past the cells ended with the warden ushering the doctor and his aide through a high security checkpoint. On a high platform stood a guillotine waiting for its next use. The valet straightened his collar. A whistling sound filled the foyer as the three went down the ramp to the cell block. The tune was The Hall of the Mountain King.

"Gentlemen you are now in the realm of the murderers." Said the warden. "May I present your first candidate Hans Beckert."

The prisoner ceased his whistling when Mabuse began his intense stare. Hans was stout, nervous and wide eyed, almost bug eyed. This allowed Mabuse to look into his mind and read his perverse soul. His file was soon found by the valet and handed to the doctor.

"It's just as I figured." Said Mabuse. "This man only kills children. Which he does by uncontrollable compulsion. He is of no use to me. I don't think your guillotine will have him; he will plea insanity and hence be institutionalised."

"Hans Morrier." Said the warden as they moved to the next cell.

A promptly found file was handed to the doctor who skimmed through it, deeming a thorough review or intense personal read unnecessary.

Hans Morrier was obviously a nervous wreck. Paranoia was prevalent in his eyes, his skin, his movements and reactions.

"I can't use this man." Announced Mabuse as he handed the file back. "This man should claim shellshock. A compassionate judgment make keep him from your guillotine. Perhaps some other mastermind will employ him. Next."

An olive skinned man with black eyes and curly black hair occupied the adjacent cell,

"Ivan Dragomiloff." Stated the warden.

"A Russian; here in Berlin?" Queried Mabuse as he took the file and perused it.

"His trade takes him to many places. Here is where he got caught."

"An assassin. Excellent." muttered Mabuse who was captivated by the file. "Fluent in English and German. CEO of the Assassination Bureau."

The doctor faced the prisoner with a look of admiration. "You personally eliminated your Board of Directors. Oh! you are good."

Mabuse faced the warden. "This is the one. I'll have him. Send him to the interview room."

Ivan Dragomiloff found himself handcuffed and hobbled to take very short steps to an interview. The room was well lit and the German with a creepy stare motioned him to take a seat.

"You are good at what you do." Said Mabuse. "That's why i am giving you a chance to get out."

"What do I have to do?" Asked Ivan.

"Accept this commission. Then your out. Once it's done your free to do what you like."

A file was handed over to Ivan. Upon opening, a look of recognition met the assassin's face.

"This is a heavy commission. That country's government will comb the entire world looking for me once I do this."

"That guilloine looks sharp doesn't it." Commented Mabuse. "Your execution is in a couple of days. A man of your skills should not fear hostile agents on your trail. If you do Madam Guillotine's kiss perhaps would be preferable?"

"Why do you want this man killed."

"He is an intolerable nuisance."

"From your country's point of view. To his own he is an uncredited master of national security." Ivan closed the file.

"Will you accept the commission; not just for your life; we can throw some money into the pot."

"What is the moral reason for this commission?"

"What?" Yelled Mabuse angrily.

Whistling reverberated from a nearby cell. It was Hans Beckert and his personal rendition of The Hall of the Mountain King again.

"Apart from a measure of sloth and some petty gluttony." Answered Ivan. "This man is without sin. I only kill moral reprobates. This commission cannot be accepted."

Mabuse focused his stare on the assassin's black eyes. They were like pools of dark oil which his mesmerising power had to grope through to find the control dials.

"You will accept this commission." Smoothed out Mabuse.

Ivan should have left the room, but he waited for the doctor to further justify the deal. When he faced Mabuse he found himself locked in a mutual stare that he was somehow unable to turn away from. The intense stare burrowed into his mind. He felt his strong willpower melting away.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"And may God have mercy on your soul." The skull faced preacher finished the last rites by making the sign of the cross near the woman's forehead.

Several guards rushed into the cell to seize Irma Vep and pull the condemned criminal away from the berth, her last supper finished. Out the door was the hallway where the cat burglar was dragged kicking and screaming to her final destination. Fellow female prisoners screeched like harpies from their locked cells.

Madam Guillotine stood expectant on the raised platform ahead. Irma knew this moment would one day befall her, given her criminal activities. However, now it had come, she felt intensely frightened. A mighty effort to break free of the guards dragging her down the hall turned out to be futile; their hold on her arms was strong and professional. Her struggles barely slowed down the trip by meager seconds.

The hallway ended in a wide indoor area. Several personages were attending to see her long awaited comeuppance. Phillipe Guerande, the crime journalist who exposed the Vampires' order was among them eliciting a look of hate her way. The Tiger Brigade, a heavy-handed police unit were there to view their triumph. Judex stood on the sidelines shaking his head negatively at her plight.

As she reached the stairs, another onlooker stood out in the staring crowd, it was Fu Manchu in a gold silken robe, his arms folded ending with each hand tucked into the opposite sleeve. He bowed then broke into a sinister smile framed by his tendrilled mustache.

Fear was worsening with each step taken to the death machine and the masked executioner, patiently standing by the vertical frame. Irma tried to throw herself backwards to break her escorts' hold, but more guards seized her and lifted her bodily up the stairs.

She made out one more face in the crowd. It was Dr Totenkopf, the German scientist she was assigned to find. What was he doing here? Where is M and The League? How did I even get here? Totenkopf laughed as she futilely tried to answer any of those questions.

The heavy angled guillotine blade was raised to the crossbar on top, ready for its fast descent. A curt signal from the executioner had the guards place the condemned on the Bascule, he clearly had no mind for dramatics. Irma tried desperately to keep her arms apart, but the strong vise like grips of her guards forced them together behind her back and securely bound them. She was tied to the wooden teeter board her neck over the edge. The executioner drew a series of lateral dashes across the back of her neck. Irma's hair had been cut short for this moment.

Tearful protests born of fear blared from the condemned women, but they all seemed to fall on deaf ears. Her struggles to break free were equally futile she was professionally secured. The bascule she was tipped to became horizontal, it was pushed towards the guillotine's frame; Irma's head cleared the vertical gap then had stocks closed over her neck.

A drum roll began it would soon finish. Irma Vep noticed tears dropping on the basket beneath her. Throughout her criminal career she figured that if this moment eventuated she would face it proud and strong; but strangely, now that it was happening an intense fear had broken her down into an embarrassing pathetic wimp.

The tears she abundantly shed were black, they formed a dark pool underneath her. She then realised that her black eye shadow was still on her face. They would never have let her keep it on.

Suddenly the drums fell silent; the release lever clicked.

"This isn't real." She shouted.

The sound of the blade descending was cut in by the noise of a window opening. Irma awoke in a dark room soaked in a feverish sweat; she pressed her back against the wall and breathed frantically. She was free of any guillotine and her head remained on her shoulders, the nightmare was over but she was still frightened; of what, she didn't know anymore. The window had an inviting breeze and bright daylight, she stuck her head out and felt her fear subside. She climbed outside to soft grass and a freshening wind.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Puddleby on the Marsh was an old town that kept its rustic appeal and pastoral splendour, but to Gregor Samsa it brought frustration. Communication was attempted between him and the top hatted figure who stood on the outskirts of his animal sanctuary.

Ever since Gregor became a bug, he could not vocalise any words in English, Czech, German or any other human language. He could only use gestures to talk, but they were awkward and open to ill interpretation.

Here was a man who had mastered five hundred animal languages and treated all creatures with a great deal of understanding. However Doctor John Dolittle was at a loss when he met Gregor Samsa. He had tried many forms of insect communication: cockroach, preying mantis, cricket, locust and several dialects of beetle; neither meant a thing to the man insect. The doctor attempted to teach him beetle language, which included wing flapping, rubbing one leg with another, abdominal pulsating, antennae movements and oral sounds, but these did not take. Gregor found them ridiculous and useless; he wanted to talk to people. If Dr. Dolittle could not understand him then no-one could.

Gregor lowered his antennae in despair. The doctor had apparently achieved longevity after his trip to the moon, but seemed to accept the futility of achieving communication with Gregor other than with the tongue of wretched humans.

Dolittle signaled to a pint sized bear that seemed to walk comfortably on his hind legs much like a human boy. The similarity didn't stop there; this ursine infant wore yellow checked trousers and matching scarf with a red jumper. He talked English with the doctor mixing in a few words in the bruin tongue.

"I cannot help him Rupert." Dolittle said to white furred boy. "You must take him to the other doctor."

Rupert motioned Gregor to follow him. Dr. Dolittle tipped his hat then returned to his duties. All animals in the sanctuary let out a cacophony of noise: pigs squealed; cows mooed; donkeys brayed; horses whinnied; a parrot squawked and other beasts vocalised their feelings. Gregor did not understand what was actually vocalized by this faunal choir, but read a note of "good riddance you abomination" from each participant.

As he followed the little boy bear into the forest, Gregor expected to be overcome with either bitterness or misery; but what flooded his mind was fear. The man insect was frightened of never really being welcome or accepted. Dr. Dolittles rejection brought out an abundance of it; Gregor's hopes lay with this other doctor.

A clearing in the woods was the site of a remote cabin. Rupert knocked on the side to summon the inhabitant. Gregor sensed multiple presences around him though for some reason he could not see them. This trip had made him tunnel visioned.

A lab coated figure stepped out of the cabin, he was old and grey with command over all creatures in the area. Gregor knew then that this was Dr. Alphonse Moreau.

"Thank you, Rupert." He said. "This is a challenging patient you brought me.

"You must be the Sayer of the Law now Rupert. What is the Law?"

Rupert turned to Gregor and said. "Nobody shall shed blood. Nobody will kill."

Moreau and Rupert must have been informed as to his wartime exploits Gregor surmised; he could not justify them then, he could not speak.

"What happens to those who break the Law Rupert?" Asked Moreau.

"They go to the House of Pain."

Gregor was seized by the multiple presences around him, now he could see them; they were misshapen humanoids, compositions of human and various animals, all the results of Dr. Moreau's bizarre surgery. The giant bug should have been able to shake them off and fly away, but he felt strangely weak. They forced him into the cabin while Moreau put on an apron that was already bloodied. Gregor was placed on a slab and strapped down with his exposed abdomen facing upwards. Each limb was securely tethered and his elytra remained sutured.

On the cabin shelves were large preserving jars containing either removed inner organs or animal fetuses. Dissection charts and diagrams were pinned up on the wall. The fear Gregor felt was now retranslated and amplified; his struggles were futile he was bound and helpless with a cold scientist about to vivisect him; a fear he had ever since his metamorphoses.

A look to the side revealed a second operating slab; its unconscious occupant seemed to be a dwarf tiger with each paw bandaged and his long tail split open. Rupert demonstrated a rubbery organic substance sitting on the slab.

"This is going into his tail." Said Rupert. "He's going to be a very bouncy fellow."

Dr. Moreau ushered the boy bear out of the cabin along with the twisted creations. The vivisectionist was free to do his work now; he uncovered a tray of surgical instruments and picked up a scalpel. There was no offer of, or apparent intention towards anathstesia. This was the House of Pain.

"Let's see what's inside you." Said Moreau as he brought the scalpel to the upper abdominal ring.

Gregor desperately threshed about in abject terror. The sound of a window opening turned his attention he was then in darkness. The window was all he could see, he was unbound, alone and standing with heavy fear still crushing him. Gregor retracted his head into his exoskeleton then jumped up and crashed through the roof.

The daylight and fresh air were welcome, he didn't wait to hit the ground; still airborne he opened his elytra and spread his wings. His muscles were strong again and his vision wide as per normal. Fear made him want to be somewhere else, Gregor flew high above the forest canopy on a random course.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Black smoke saturated the air; Captain Mors groped through the eye stinging darkness to get clear. This was achieved when he stumbled, while coughing, into a street that had already burnt to the ground. Despair overcame Mors; while he was blinded he didn't see the destruction wrought upon the city and the Earth.

All houses had become smoking ruins, buildings collapsed into rubble, parks and gardens were scorched black along with the rest of the natural world.

War seems to have done exactly what Mors feared it would do; destroy everything. Human nature had found new means of self-destruction and it didn't stop at war. This major conflagration left woman in despair, many had killed their own children, then themselves rather than face a burnt out future. Any survivors there were formed armed gangs that looted whatever scarce resources were left.

The _Luftpirat_ had been damaged and grounded its crew scattered. Mors feared that many would end their lives once the extent of this devastation was realised. How did he fail? He was supposed to stop this. The League, what happened to the League? Mors memory became blurred.

A little white dog stepped out of the ruins and gave a friendly bark. The Luftpirate found a little cheer in its presence, only to lose it when a scavenging gang member seized the protesting canine and disappeared with it into the black smoke. Mors knew what was going to happen to the dog and feared the same would occur to any pretty thing that remained. He didn't even have his pistol. There was nothing he could do for anyone or anything.

The Brandenburg gate was in the distance, flames had surrounded it. Mors noticed people partying in front of it like it was a celebratory bonfire. As Mors approached he saw a little glimmer of hope when flowers and small tufts of grass sprouted out of the scorched Earth.

The Doric columns of the gate had collapsed, sending the statue of the four horse chariot and Eirene, the Goddess of Peace, into the inferno beneath to be consumed by the fires of war.

Four figures stood together in strange revelry while drinking wine from shiny goblets. Captain von Gorian was among the jubilant quartet.

"After years of struggle and effort we won." He roared. "We finally won the war."

Baron von Klugermann raised his goblet. "To Victory!" he toasted.

"To Victory!" The others followed suit.

The next reveler was Kaiser Homunculus, ecstatic that his leadership had brought them to this outcome.

"And where would we be without the man who made all this possible?" Roared the Kaiser. "A humiliated country pressed down by its enemies.

"A toast to the man who gave us the science to achieve this sweet victory."

All three revelers lifted their goblets to the fourth man. "Dr Totenkopf."

Totenkopf, the mad scientist who gave humanity the means to wipe itself out. The man Mors had apparently failed to locate and stop.

All four drank their wine then turned to the luftpirate.

"Greetings Captain Mors." Said Klugermann. "Come and join us. We have won the war."

"You have won nothing." Said Mors. "Civilization has fallen, the Earth is scorched. Your victory prize is a desolate world."

"What did I tell you." Yelled Gorian to the others. "He's never been with us. This is not his victory."

"But it is a brilliant achievement Captain." Said the Kaiser. "Think about it. Our world was but a training ground. We now have the machinery, the armies and the knowledge to wage war and conquer."

Mors felt his despair become fear. Kaiser Homunculus seemed to be heading to an even worse scenario.

The royal figure created in a laboratory tank continued. "There are other worlds out there; Mars, Venus, etcetera. You will take us to each one, and we will wage war with our new science then place them under my dominion."

"So welcome Captain Mors." Added Klugermann as he raised his goblet.

"To Captain Mors." Toasted all four in loud unison, then broke out in mad laughter.

Sheer terror overcame Mors. Not only had he failed to save his home planet he was going to be forced to spread this mad war to other planets. He hated war.

"You have your scientist." Yelled Mors. "Build your own outer space transport."

The revelers broke out of their mad laughter and stared at the luftpirate.

This time it was Totenkopf who talked. "I have been working on that Mors. The vehicles I am developing will eventually travel from planet to planet. But look up at the sky."

Mors looked up as did the victors. A layer of fire blazed across the firmament.

"It's actually nighttime now. The sky fire makes it look like day." Said Totenkopf. "My fledgling experiments in space travel have unfortunatley ignited volatile elements in the atmosphere. This planet is most certainly doomed."

This terror Mors was feeling became intense. The devastation of the Earth was going to be worse; complete and utter obliteration.

"So you must take us to the other planets." Continued Totenkopf. We can commence the first of many new wars and bring the entire cosmos under our dominion."

"Let's drink to war." Toasted Kaiser Homunculus.

All four revelers sculled their wine then recommenced their mad laughter.

The fire in the sky began to fall. Fireballs rained upon the already scorched landscape. The flowers and grass would clearly not have a chance to regrow. A huge blanket of fire roared as it whooshed towards the ground.

All this was lost on the four revelers, they intensified their laughter to insane levels. Even as the fire from heaven flayed their skin from their bones the laughter did not stop.

A window opening snapped Mors to new attention, There was no fire, just darkness and the bright window. Fear still pervaded his mind but now it seemed unfounded. He made his way to the window and felt a refreshing wind.

There was a scuffle outside. Mors looked out the window to see M wrestling with Jonathon Crane, the chemist.

A crashing sound was heard above. Gregor had jumped through the roof and was flying away as if he was fleeing something. Irma Vep was sitting on the grass outside her window, she was afraid, sweat and tears had smudged her dark eye shadow.

Mors climbed out the window; whatever he was afraid of; it was not this fight.

Crane pushed M away then reached for a cylinder he had dropped during the scuffle. M whacked his hand with a walking stick then employed his ambulation aid as a weapon and assaulted the chemist with it. After a few whacks Crane rushed M and pushed the portly gentleman over.

Mors approached Crane then found he could not engage, his fear was debilitating him. Jonathon Crane saw his problem then grinned before emitting a few lion like roars at the luftpirate who normally would have ignored this scare tactic, but now he shrunk in terror at those makeshift threats.

A look of sheer delight fixed Jonathon Crane's face until thick ape-like arms seized him and crushed him into submission. Monk Mayfair dragged the young chemist into a lock-up.

M got up and put a comforting hand on the shivering shoulder of Captain Mors, then picked up the cylinder Crane had reached for and turned the nozzle to closed position.

"It's alright Captain." Said M. "This is not a failure of nerve. It's an inducement of fear done with this special gas.

"I needed chemists for this project. They're all brilliant, but at least one is diabolical."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

The Meuse-Argonne entrenchments stretched through the forest; both American and German lines were ever vigilant for attack from the other side. It was along the American side that a singular advanced position was secured; it stood closer to the German lines than anywhere else. The proximity achieved would be of great concern to the enemy. Here the vigilance would have to be intense on both sides.

Tarzan's enquiries had led him here, in the American advance trench. He was ushered into the command bunker of Captain Ulysses Paxton. The officer was newly promoted and fatigued by his increased responsibilities, but when he met the jungle man dressed in safari clothes his face lit up. Both Tarzan and Ulysses felt like they were long lost brothers now reunited.

After an extended handshake Ulysses said. "You have walked into a war my friend. If you look into the night sky you can see Mars, the God of War staring down at us."

"Tarzan not here to fight war. Just to see son."

"You mean Private Jack Clayton? Yes he is serving in this trench. I will have Lt. James Gatz take you to him."

The junior officer ushered Tarzan out of the bunker and into the trench.

"It's a pity your not here to fight Old Sport. This place is the most likely in the whole front to get one." Commented Gatz.

The trench was deep; twice the height of a man. Timber walls topped with sandbags kept the earth out. Ladders were seen frequently as well as periscopes employed by soldiers on watch. Many soldiers inhabited this entrenchment: some just stood or sat waiting for the call to action. Pastimes included playing cards, smoking or just chatter. Tarzan could tell that they were all on edge because of their proximity to the enemy lines.

Gatz approached a doughboy called Eddie Batlett. The soldier stood to attention but was promptly told to be at ease.

"Where is Jack Clayton?" Enquired Gatz.

"Oh! Korak." Said Eddie. "He's on watch at the west extremity."

"Well, have him relieved and brought here."

"Right." Acknowledged Eddie. He turned to a nearby soldier demonstrating his skill with Morse code by tapping three note sequences onto a strong box.

"Private Joe Bonham. You are to relieve Jack Clayton immediately and send him back here."

The soldier tapped two sequences onto the box. Gatz recognised the first letter as O, so confidently interpreted the coded tapping as "OK". Joe Bonham moved the western part of the trench.

Eddie Bartlett turned to Greystoke. "So if you're Korak's father, you must be Tarzan of the Apes. Your fine musculature and that knife in your scabbard; Yeah you are him. We've all read about you."

Tarzan did not know how to answer, before he could Eddie blared out an announcement.

Hey everybody, this is Tarzan, the man raised by apes and then becomes a Lord among all creatures of the African Jungle."

Tarzan now felt uncomfortable among these brash Americans. Several got up off their seats or snapped out of their standing delerium to approach the Jungle Lord. A cheery fellow with a not so cheery friend were first to greet him. Ned Trimble smilingly shook Tarzan's hand, the doughboy seemed to have all the happiness of someone recently married. His gloomy friend, Aron Trask, also shook hands despite being in a perpetual state of depression. It appears Ned's attempts to cheer him up weren't taking.

NCO Quirt was the next to approach Tarzan, he was a well traveled marine Seargent temporarily assigned to lead a rogue platoon of Harlem Hellfighters. Two of Quirt's men were motioned to greet the jungle Lord. First of these black soldiers was Mark; Tarzan missed his surname; then there was a reluctant Vernon Waters. Tarzan naively enquired, during handshaking, if they were possibly related to the noble Waziri, a tribe he admired.

Vernon took on a scrutinising stare then replied. "We don't get to know our genealogy back that far. We are what we are now. The history our kin we are to take pride in will be forged here."

Other soldiers mobbed the figure who was their hero; they all read about his adventures in the African Jungle. Lt. Gatz eventually ordered all soldiers to get back to their posts or disperse within the trench.

"Here he comes. Jack Clayton." Said Gatz.

Korak stepped into view. The eye contact lasted only a second before Tarzan and Korak rushed into each others' arms.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"It is finished M." Announced Monk Mayfair.

Paul Carruthers continued. "This chemical attractant should allow Gregor to track whatever it's attached to over a long distance."

A large amount of the indicated solution was placed in a metal dispensation device.

"This dispenser releases tiny droplets of the attractant in timed sequence." Said Monk. "It should leave a scent trail in the sky that Gregor can follow. If the wind is light it shouldn't disturb the trail too much."

"I take it that the Captain will have to pursue the super zeppelin immediately after it leaves." Asked M.

"Definately." Stated Paul Carruthers. "The chemical is strong and with firm stabilising agents, but over a vast distance and with unpredictable air currents, the trail could spoil or go cold pretty fast."

Captain Mors asked. "Where do I attach it to?"

"To the super zeppelin's rudder." Answered Monk. "These clamps I've fixed to the dispenser can be applied fast."

"That leaves the problem of getting to a super zeppelin and attaching it." Said M.

Irma Vep stepped forward. "Oh! Gregor, the Captain and I have a plan to do that."

"We just need to know where to find one." Added Mors.

The three League members had overcome their gas induced fear after a few hours in the open air. M informed them that he saw Jonathon Crane blowing gas from a little cylinder into the dormitory vents. After opening each window to help dissipate the gas, M wrestled with The wicked chemist.

Mors, Irma and Gregor each woke from disturbing nightmares and promptly left their gas filled rooms to begin a slow recovery. Gregor jumped through the roof and flew away; an early preparation of the pheromonal concoction was used to draw him back.

Gregor has since tested the final product and believed he can track it over a long distance.

Jonathon Crane remained in the compound lock-up showing signs of a cruel madness.

It was on their way back to Sheffield that M announced that Biggles has been discharged from hospital and can rejoin the mission. The _Luftpirat_ had been re-plated and was ready for flight. M was set to take a train to London; he received reports from Sir Robert Morton.

"We know where a super zeppelin will be." Said M. "A build up of those scientific horrors has been observed by one of my agents on the Western front. Super zeppelins drop these forces off at a base just behind the German lines."

"Are they going to attack British or French?" Asked Mors.

"Americans." Answered M. "The next attack will be at Meuse-Argonne."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Captain Ulysses Paxton finished his awkward briefing with Marine Captain Flagg. A meeting made awkward by the bickering rivalry between Flagg and NCO Quirt. The two had a history of it dating back several years. Ulysses blew a sigh of relief that the briefing was over.

"Those two make a fine couple." Said G8 sarcastically.

The American air ace sat in the corner waiting for the upcoming meeting that he was to participate in.

"Why don't you use your real name?" Asked Ulysses.

"G8 is as good a handle as any." Replied the pilot.

An adjutant entered the bunker room. "The agents are here."

"Good; show them in." Said Ulysses.

Biggles, Captain Mors and Irma Vep presented themselves to the officer.

"You are the the ones who who are taking up operation M." Asked Ulysses.

"We are." Said Mors. "This is the closest point in the allied lines to the base."

"Here is your guide." The officer indicated a man coming out of the shadows. "Lt. Hugo Drummond."

A look of cheerful ugliness adorned the rough features of the tall figure. It inspired more confidence than dread; he had clearly experienced much action during the war and showed an impatience to get back into it.

"This mission is just what I need to break the monotony." He said. "I can get you through enemy lines to the base perimeter; but I don't know how you're going to get in."

"Don't worry about that." Replied Irma. " We have it planned from then on."

"Something else." Added Mors. "We will require enemy aircraft in that area to be decoyed away, while we are there."

"That's where I come in." Said G8.

Biggles recognised the American Ace and jovially approached to shake his hand. The two pilots, being allies, had drunk together.

"i am actually not part of Operation M." Said Biggles. "It was formulated when I was in hospital. Can I possibly participate in your decoy plan."

"I think there may be a place for you." Replied G8.

"One more thing." Mors turned to Ulysses. "Is Lord Greystoke here?"

"Yes, he is visiting his son, who is among my men."

"We don't need him for this operation, but we do need him to be ready to leave on the double. Once we are done we may have to make a fast departure."

"I'll see to it." Said Ulysses. "Good luck with the mission."

"And good luck with your advance." Uttered Hugo as he led Mors and Irma out of the bunker.

Another pilot stepped out of the shadows and stood beside G8.

"This is Jack Powell." G8 introduced the fellow to Biggles. "He is one of my large team of airmen."

The British pilot looked dejected.

"I have sufficient pilots for this plan." Said G8. "However, there is a place for you."

G8 put his hand on Biggles' shoulder.

"Can you use a machine gun?"


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Hugo Drummond had rough features of a British bulldog and the course demeanor to match. He confidently led Mors and Irma out into No Man's Land and into a foxhole. That was unfortunate for the German soldier hiding in it. The panicked Hun drew his knife and rushed to attack. Hugo seized the arm and twisted it till the blade was dropped then pulled the antaganist into his clutches and, with minimal grunting and savage strength, crushed the life out of him.

"What was he doing here?" Demanded Irma.

"Probably a spy doing reconnaissance." Answered Hugo. "His officers will be waiting a long time for his report."

Mors asked "What do we do now?"

"Your next guide should be joining us here about now."

"One of yours?" Asked Irma.

"No. He's American" Said Hugo, "This fellow has become used to prowling close to the enemy lines."

Hugo blew on a whistle that emulated a light bird call. The same signal came from nearby.

A swift figure bound into the foxhole with them. He was a young man wearing a tattered uniform of the Royal Canadian Army, yet he greeted everyone with an American accent. Irma quickly noted that he was exceptionally handsome; there were several ornaments of American Indian culture on him yet he was all Caucasion; brownish blonde hair even. She focused on his eyes to see their pigmentation but it was like looking into the eyes of a grizzly bear. He carried a stick with him with dangling furry adornments, but it could not serve as a weapon.

Hugo introduced him. "Meet Tristan Ludlow."

Greetings were jovial even Mors with his German accent generated warm chemistry with the guide. Tristan complimented Irma on her dark cat burglar apparel and make-up.

"The ability to keep unseen here is what will keep you alive."

No Man's Land was a mangled divide between the trenches. Multiple artillery strikes and grenades had twisted the earth into ghostly landscape of dead shattered trees, wide craters and waves of disturbed dirt. It was these that allowed the daring travelers to crawl on their bellies across the lethal strip.

Another foxhole offered a brief respite amidst this awkward trek. It was from here that Mors and Irma got their first look at the super zeppelin moored just beyond the German lines.

"That's where we have to get to." Said Mors.

"Good luck to you." Wished Tristan. "I can get you passed the enemy lines; but getting in that base; I have to leave to your own devices."

"That's fine." Said Irma. "We got that worked out."

"With a little help from me." Added Hugo.

The remaining distance was traveled stressfully but without discovery. Tristan even lead them to a stretch of enemy trench that was unmanned. He clearly knew the Hun's vulnerabilities.

"Before we dart across." Whispered Tristan. "I must deal with that lookout post."

He was indicating a machine gun post to the left. It had two soldiers behind sandbags.

"Stay here and wait for me to return." Whispered the American as he scurried towards it.

Tristan's stealth was good; even Irma and Mors lost sight of him. The two soldiers remained unaware of any other presence. It wasn't long before Irma saw both soldiers disappear beneath the sandbag rim. One scream followed another as Tristan's knife dealt with both lookouts in quick succession.

Irma did not see Tristan until two minutes after the slayings, this was when he stood up to dismantle the Maxim machine gun. He got back in short order and bid everyone to cross the trench. They were in enemy territory now.

A wide mound of earth lay just beyond; everyone ascended towards the top. Tristan got their first then pleaded with everyone to not move and hide just short of the pinnacle.

A multitude of footsteps with occasional grunting was heard. The strides were too undisciplined to be soldiers marching and the verbal sounds were alien. Both Irma and Mors peaked over the mound's rim to see a massive line with hundreds of twisted pale skinned figures ambulating towards the trenches to the left.

They were each a horrid visage of the ugly sketch they were shown by M. Each countenance was only remotely human; their gait, walk and features were roughly apelike. Whatever sparse hair each one had was positioned variously and randomly on their hideous bodies and not always the scalp. So these were the homunculi, created in their thousands to rain hell on the Western Front. Their teeth and claws seemed deliberately designed to kill.

Occasional German were seen walking by the line. They carried little whistles that, when blown, made no audible noise but kept the mass of ambulating monstrosities in order.

When this procession passed the four onlookers drew a sigh of relief. After catching breath, there was questioning and discussion about the bizarre vision, but soon the mission continued. The super zeppelin looked massive now that they were getting close.

The forest behind the line was an easy walk and soon the air base perimeter fence came into view.

"This is where I part company." Announced Hugo. "My fence line sabotage will be explosive and provide the distraction you will need."

Mors and Drummond synchronized their watches before the latter's departure.

Tristan accompanied the two League members to the forest edge. All trees within fifty meters of the perimeter had been cleared. There was only one guard patrolling outside the fenceline in this area; trees made hiding from him easy. A lookout tower gave a guard a certain view of anyone leaving the treeline to approach the fence.

"Are you two sure you know what your doing?" Asked Tristan.

"We do Tristan." Answered Mors. "We must wait here until dark before we act. You have been been of valuable help. Thank you."

"Good Luck." Tristan took his leave of the two after another pass of the patrolling guard. Irma noticed that the stick Tristan was carrying had two extra furry adornments attached to it.

Mors and Irma sat and waited for nightfall.

The gentle forest sounds were pushed aside by an earsplitting thunderous shock that shook from the trenches. Wave after wave of horrendous noise ripped through the woods.

Mors turned to Irma. "The battle has begun."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 22**

Jack Powell lead Biggles to a large tent where a familiar face greeted the pilots. Tom Swift was all smiles and welcoming.

"Here is your fourth gunner Tom." Said Jack. "Good luck with the test run."

"Thank you, Jack." Replied Tom

After Jack departed to join G8's squadron, Biggles was taken into the tent to see a very large ironclad wonder.

"I was taken into your splendid airship." Said Tom. "Now you can come into my great vehicle."

The tank was huge and heavily armoured. It was shaped like two wedges fused together broadside to broardside. Large caterpiller belts stretched over cogged wheels that spanned the vehicle's tall height. There was a gun port on each side, each with two machine gun turrets: one front, the other rear. There was no artillery gun. A large hydraulic mechanism was attached by cables to a latticed steel girder resting in sockets on each side of the tank.

"This is my baby." Said Tom. "And you have just joined the crew for its test run."

Biggles was flabbergasted. "When G8 said he needed a gunner I thought he meant in a plane."

The guns we have installed are much like your Vickers mounted machine guns." Said Tom. "Come on inside. I'll show your around."

A metal door in the chassis gained them entry where Biggles was introduced to Hank Baldwin, Tom's tank mechanic and gunner. He was the only mature aged person there; everyone else was appeared to be in their teens. First there was the assigned sapper, Anthony Rogers; the communication engineer, Jason Gridley; Ned Newton, Tom's best friend, here serving as a gunner along with Benjamin Button. This last individual took the cake for looking young, while most of this crew would need proof that they were eighteen years old, this gunner appeared to be no more than fifteen. Since everyone but Hank was very young, including himself, Biggles did not pursue the matter.

"This tank is better than either you British or the French have." Stated Hank Baldwin. "It can go almost twice as fast and is doubly armoured. A Big Bertha shell could not destroy this."

Biggles replied. "I hope you're not going to test that claim today."

"Not today." Answered Jason. "Take a look at all the electronics in here. This ironclad giant can be driven by remote control. Then we can test its resilience to enemy artillery."

Ned Newton continued. "But first we should impress the top brass with its maneuverability."

Tom explained more. "Building this advanced prototype was financed by Daddy Warbucks, a munitions magnate in New York. He won't like us using it for enemy target practice before we make an example for the Military to buy and manufacture more of these."

The interior was designed for long term occupancy in case it's escape was cut off by the enemy. There were cupboards with provisions and even a latrine. Biggles post was the left gun port's rear turret with Benjamin on the front. Ned and Hank were on the right port. Anthony would look through a horizontal slit to observe the ground ahead. Jason set up his wireless communication equipment as well as monitoring the electrical operations within the tank.

"We're all here." Announced Tom. "We can commence the test run now."

Tom gave the signal for the tent crew to remove the cover, then moved himself into a higher compartment to drive the tank. Five minutes later the engines had started and they were moving. Gripping rings were fixed in the interior so the crew could brace themselves for this ride's rough moments. Biggles seized the one nearest to him as soon as the tank lurched forward.

Adjusting the speed of each steel belt separately allowed Tom to steer around the many trees. He had his own view of the ground ahead, so did Anthony, who would yell out his sapper's opinion of its feasibility for such a heavy tank.

After the forest was cleared there were only foxholes to avoid. Anthony recommended going around a muddy bog ahead, but Tom drove straight into it. The tank's speed was only marginally curtailed as it traveled through the thick mud.

Hank laughed. "This baby's extra weight has given the belts a lot of traction."

"The Brass will be impressed with this." Announced Anthony. "While we still have trees on our flanks let's test the guns."

Tom stopped the tank where each gun turret had a tree within their range. Each gunner fired his turret into a tree hitting them with reasonable accuracy. Biggles found the deadly hardware easy to swing and stabilize, it fired its first shots with smooth grace into the designated tree. The recoil was only slight, only requiring minimal effort from the gunner to keep stable.

"These are pretty good." Complimented Biggles.

All gunners agreed and Anthony gave thumbs up to Tom.

"Now for the trench crossing." Said Tom.

An American trench was ahead, beyond that, No Man's Land. All soldiers within the defile stayed clear of the crossing point; they clearly expected calamity from this.

When the tank reached the edge of the twenty foot wide trench it stopped. Tom raised an observation tower to a point slightly above the tallest part of the vehicle. Hank started an extra motor which made the metallic structure tremble.

"Here goes the grippers." Said Tom as he threw back a lever.

Two steel latticed girders were pulled away from the tank's sides by steel cables attached to a hydraulic crane mechanism Tom was operating. Biggles noticed the lattices were diagonal to make them stronger. A series of cams and levers manipulated by Tom brought the girders before the tank. Each girder was laid to rest so that its ends were on opposite lips of the trench, thus forming a bridge.

"Cross your hearts everyone." Yelled Tom.

Many did. Biggles noticed several onlooking soldiers in the trench do likewise. The tank moved forward across the two girders. A little drop occurred as the portable bridge was pressed into the ground. Slowly the metal monstrosity crawled over the gap. Onlookers kept their breathing to a minimum; the crew held tightly to their gripping rings. It was a tense few seconds but soon the bump and then second bump when the tank reach the other side brought relief.

Hydraulics and steel cables pried the girder loose from the trench lips and deposited them back into their notches on the tank's sides. A flurry of applause came from the soldiers.

"Well how was that." Asked Tom as he drove forward.

"Brilliant Tom." Said Anthony. "The top Brass will most likely commission several of these."

"Hang on." Said Biggles. "Why are we proceeding into No Man's Land?"

"I built this baby to operate and survive there." Answered Tom. "If the Bosch see us and take action; then bring it on. I would love to show what this tank can do under fire."

There was much eye contact between the crew when Tom revealed his arrogance.

"Don't worry." Said Ned Newton. "He has orders to keep away from the enemy trench."

Jason Gridley talked into the radio to transmit a test progress report. The tank maneuvered around many shell holes; some were deliberately dropped into so Tom could demonstrate how the vehicle could maneuver out of them. Much barbed wire and other barricades were run over, effectively clearing a path for an allied advance.

One thing the tank couldn't clear was a huge mound of dirt about twenty feet high.

"We can leave it." Said Anthony. "It will stop our advancing soldiers getting fired at."

A distant explosion was heard. Many more followed. The starboard gunners moved to the portside view holes to see the American lines come under heavy fire. They could see masses of dirt fly into the air.

"That's the heaviest artillery fire I have ever seen here." Said Anthony.

"The guns sound so near." Yelled Biggles.

Jason read his instrumentation and said. "The sounds are not coming from the German lines. They're coming from the other side of that mound."

"We have to check this out." Announced Tom as he drove the tank forward.

Once the mound was cleared, the sight they all beheld was of four strange tanks firing their main turrets at the American lines.

"I didn't know the Bosch had tanks." Said Hank.

"These are unlike anything the British or French have." Stated Tom.

"And much more firepower than either." Added Anthony.

Biggles realised these war machines were a product of Unit 11, the death factory he and the League were to track down and put an end to.

The tanks were in teams of two and they were spreading their fire along this section of the Argonne front. They would rain hell on one area then swerve their big guns and begin to devastate another with a frighteningly powerful payload. There was no infantry support by them; no soldier could tolerate the thunderous noise.

Tom observed the firing patterns for a minute, realising neither of the metal monsters had noticed his tank, then drove at full speed towards the nearest team.

"Tom. what are you doing?" Demanded Anthony.

"We have no firepower to take these bastards out." Replied Tom. "But we can surprise them with an almighty ram."

"Tom, don't do it." Pleaded Jason. "I know what we can do." The communications engineer blared out a message on the radio.

"I built this baby to be a juggernaut." Yelled Tom. "If my timing is right we can destroy two of those monsters. Everyone brace yourselves.

All crew members returned to their posts and seized their gripping rings.

The tank accelerated to a velocity twice the speed of any known tank. Neither enemy crew saw it coming. Their turrets were loud, drowning out the sound of the oncoming juggernaut. Tom's timing was excellent; the blunt nose of his tank hit the front side of the nearest tank just as it fired a shell. The target pivoted firing its payload into its unfortunate partner, which was blasted in to a thousand pieces; its parts and crew splattered to the four winds.

The hit tank rolled after it pivoted, copping a large force of the explosion. When its momentum was spent it was a flaming, smoking ruin lying on its back. Screams from its crew were brief before secondary explosions ended all possibilty of life within.

The impact was hard on those inside Tom Swift's juggernaut; only a firm grip on the rings prevented the jolt from sending them to a bone breaking crash against the interior wall. Biggles' arms were sore as was the others. Everyone lurched as the juggernaut went into reverse. A look out the gunport window had Biggles notice the fate of the nearest two tanks and the reaction of the other two.

If they were not aware of the juggernaut before the impact, they certainly were now; their turrets began to swing toward the fleeing intruder.

"Tom, the other two tanks are going to fire on us." Biggles yelled out.

"I know." Blared out Tom. "The mound should cover us."

Biggles saw the enemy turrets finished their swing and aim for them, just as the mound came between him and the deadly artillery. The guns fired all the same and struck the mound. Thunderous impact turned the huge pile into a moving tidal wave of dirt that rose to splash down on the fleeing juggernaut.

Tom tried to reverse faster not checking the ground behind him. The juggernaut fell into a deep foxhole with a near vertical side. The tank's rear hit the pit's bottom then toppled onto its back. Dirt flooded into the pit as the wave of soil that was once a mound enveloped the area.

Darkness came over the fallen juggernaut's crew. Biggles felt dirt seeping through the port window. A red light came on in what was now the floor.

"Well, now we know the emergency light works." Said Ned.

Everyone was shaken but nobody was hurt, there were some blood noses. Dirt had ceased pouring in through all apertures. All seats were upside down; septic waste poured out of the latrine; cupboard were jolted open their contents had fallen out.

Tom entered the main area to check on everyone; he shone a torch around and asked all if they were all right. Each answer had various doses of hostility in them.

It was Ned who started the inquisition. "Tom, why did you do it. We could have sneaked away."

"You should know me better than that Ned." Answered Tom. "I am not a slacker. When my countrymen are getting pounded, I do something about it. And hey, we destroyed two of those monstrosities."

"And where did it get us?" Asked Anthony "Buried alive and upside down in the middle of No Mans' Land."

"I didn't build this tank just for reconnaissance; it was a weapon to make a difference on the front line. Well it has achieved that."

Jason Gridley stepped in "Tom, you didn't have to engage them. All we had to do was radio their position on the grid to artillery command. I did that while you were charging."

"Oh. Well I didn't have time to confer with any of you. I had to act before they saw us."

"Right." Said Benjamin Button nursing his bleeding nose. "Now we're in a hole."

"I reckon I could get this baby out of here."

Biggles said. "But we're upside down."

"Not a problem. This predicament has been prepared for. I built the treads to encompass the tank's height. That will allow us to maneuver."

The sound of the enemy tanks moving in the vicinity filled everyone with dread. Those monstrosities could easily finish them off upon discovery. Everyone began to appreciate that they were buried.

Thunder suddenly ripped through the ground knocking everyone of their feet. The red light flickered on and off as further strikes erupted all around the ground about the pit. More dirt was forced through the apertures.

"They have found us." Cried Ned. "They're going to blast us to oblivion."

"No." Yelled Jason. "That is our own artillery. They're saturating the area with shells in accordance with my radio message."

For half an hour all crewmen listened to the barrage. Some hits were frighteningly close and the tank rocked as the disturbances nudged it in various directions. Even more dirt poured in through the apertures slowly reducing space within. At one point Biggles heard the sound of a metal structure being struck by artillery and exploding. So the barrage was achieving its purpose, destroying those enemy tanks. Jason Gridley seems to know more about the new innovations than he's letting on.

When the artillery fell silent Tom and Hank revealed their review of the tank's mechanical viability. Structure wise it was in good shape, engine damage was minimal as was the hydraulics. Lights and electronics will require intensive work after they get back. Repairs necessary to get going again will take just a little while.

Jason Gridley stated that his communication equipment was intact, he just had to spend time attaching it to an portable battery he brought along.

Hope for salvation began to flow through the dimly lit room when a new noise came from the surface. It was a crowd indicated by a multitude of grunts, growls and heavy footprints trudging along the ground above. No association with human behavior could be made out from the sounds above; a savage roar occasionally broke the weird cacophony.

Whatever that crowd was, they were heading towards the American lines.

Biggles then realised what was happening; almost all others were baffled; only Jason Gridley seemed to recognise the evil above them. It was the homunculi formed in culture vats at Unit 11; they were attacking the American lines.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Tarzan's reunion with his son Korak was a jovial encounter that eventually leveled out to field coffee and mild conversation. The savage lord's eye drifted up to the twilight sky where he felt a strange drawing sensation when the distant and dim twinkle of the red planet met his gaze.

"That's Mars." Said Korak. "The God of War."

An ominous feeling came over Tarzan when he heard that. He had just gulped down the last of his coffee when the first shell hit. The sudden sound was deafening; the centrifugal force sent both father and son flying out of their seats in different directions.

The ape-man's back hit the trench wall, then his belly landed on the earth floor. He got up to look around for Korak but disturbed dirt filled the air and a shrill ringing in his ears prevented any hearing. Other shells were striking in the vicinity; these would send whoosh after whoosh of dirt into his face, up his nose, into his eyes and mouth. Both seeing and breathing became difficult.

A shell hit the trench floor nearby. Tarzan felt the earth lift under his feet and hurl him out onto the open ground above. The air was even thicker with dirt here. His shocked limbs worked sluggishly to wipe his eyes clear as he spitted frenziedly to expel the earth from his mouth.

Another shell thundered down nearby; it not only sent a big whoosh of dirt his way but also a shower of solid objects, Tarzan picked one up for close examination only to find it was a boot with a severed foot inside. Throwing it away brought his attention to a bloodied arm lying nearby, torn from a shoulder joint.

Tarzan rolled onto his stomach to crawl back towards the trench. Through the shrill ringing in his ears he could faintly make out screams and pleas of soldiers wounded by the attack. A soldier appeared on the lip of the trench astride a ladder; he motioned the struggling man to continue his crawl into the entrenchment. A nearby shell impact sent the motioning figure backwards with his ladder. Tarzan was knocked five feet to the left with heat and soil grazing his back. Fingers still clung to the ladder, but that was all; the upper half of the unfortunate soldier had been blown back minus his hands.

Screams and shouting inside the trench intensified. Another shell thundered near the trench lips. Twenty meters of entrenchment closed as the explosion forced the walls together. All screams and shouts ceased, everyone in that stretch of trench was now buried.

Tarzan turned around to seek alternative cover; he managed to begin a little scurry until a flying sandbag, propelled by another blast, knocked him to the ground. Which wasn't there; he tumbled down a slope till he reached the bottom of what was a deep impact crater. The mangled bodies of the dead and dying were with him.

Further shelling resulted in more dirt showers which blurred visibilty. When the pounding stopped the dirt began to settle and clear the air. A lighter thunder sound began, Tarzan realised this was allied artillery returning fire. The impacts were towards the enemy lines.

Tarzan tore off the remains of his shirt and wiped his eyes to see a charnel site of bloodied and broken figures that were once soldiers. All had either limbs, heads or internal organs ripped from their bodies by the shelling. Those that were not dead soon will be, there was little he could do to help them, he could only hope that they succumb to their mortal wounds before coming out of the numbing shock.

Korak could not be seen among the mangled figures but the jungle Lord did recognise one person. It was Captain Ulysses Paxton, his legs had been blown away. He was barely alive and fixated on the darkened twilight sky. Mars, the God of War; that planet was the celestial body that dominated the firmament. Tarzan felt the life leave Paxton's body.

"I hope you fare better up there than here." Said Tarzan to the Captain's lifeless husk.

When the allied barrage ceased, the jungle Lord sensed new vibrations in the ground: it was not more artillery but a multitude of approaching presences, and they were not human. He climbed the top of the crater to see them; his hearing was still bad due to the continued ringing, but a guttural growling was soon made out.

The first growling presence jumped out of the darkness. It was hideous: a horrid visage of twisted facial organs, including sharp teeth; pale deathly white skin with a few patches of hair; and an ape like gait that carried it to the crater's edge. A snarl coupled with a threatening stance was its greeting. Monstrous claws were raised to strike. Tarzan had no time to get out his knife, his shocked body was still not ready for combat.

A pounce by the creature was just barely dodged, Tarzan managed to land a kick on it that did nothing; the creature rushed him and this time the dodge failed. The monstrous arm scored a glancing blow that sprawled the jungle lord to the ground. Its sinews were tough, its claws barbed and the teeth were sharp and horrible; the envy of any bull ape. This monstrosity was about to tear and rend the near helpless victim.

Two gunshots gatecrashed the terrifying moment, they hit the homunculus as did the following shots. The creature's attention was turned to the two soldiers and rushed them . They were Ned Trimble and Aron Trask, each put five shots into the attacking fury before a shot in the shoulder hit a mis-positioned crucial organ, the creature slumped to the ground.

Ned and Aron barely had time to catch their breath when another of the growling monstrosities came out of the dust cloud and rushed them. Instantly the two fired their rifles at the attacker but this time the bullets did not stop it. The creature pounced, knocking Aron aside, Ned tried to club it with his rifle butt, to no avail; it seized his arm and, with a single jerk broke it in several places. Ned screamed as the claws mangled his limb then bit into it. Aron fired a few more rounds into his friend's tormentor; one in the back of the head finished it.

Two more of the misshapen fiends approaching gave Aron no time to comfort Ned, he primed a grenade and tossed it their way. The explosion tore both limbs and chunks of the two targets, but continued growling and slow dragging actions showed they were both alive with their killer savagery intact.

Many more of the foul figures emerged from the receding dust cloud with the sound of a monster army close behind. Aron apprised himself of a box of grenades and primed each one. He did not throw any; the horrors were rushing him fast and furious. Tarzan looked into his face and read an apathy born of hatred for himself and a home he did not want to return to. The grenades went off the instant before at least six of the monsters were on him, all were, along with Aron Trask, splattered to the four winds.

A couple of homonculi steered away from Aron;s trap and moved on the crippled Ned Trimble. The brave soldier tried desperatly to use his rifle with one arm: he managed a to score a couple of hits; but these didn't even slow down the synthetic horrors. They were on him like rabid dogs ravaging the rest of his body. It was all over fast for Ned Trimble.

Tarzan managed a little movement but this was sluggish. The two troglodytes noticed him and gave a roaring growl which was interrupted by the rapid firing of a M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle (BAR). The ballistic assault tore the monster's torso to shreds killing it near instantly. Multiple Springfield rifle shots hit the other horror. One must have hit a crucial organ because it dropped after a few seconds of punishment. Tarzan recognised Eddie Bartlett as one of the riflemen moving on the area.

Lt, James Gatz was the officer with the BAR; he evaluated the situation and ordered his men to form a battle line here. When Tarzan was noticed, the Lieutenant went over to him and offered his hand.

"Enough lying in the dirt." He said in a jovial tone. "Come with me Old Sport."

Tarzan felt his hand get grasped by the young officer. When he was pulled to his feet he felt his strength and faculties return. Gatz's strange positivity seemed infectious.

"The sun will shine for us again." Gatz said while patting the jungle lord on the arm.

More homunculi emerged from the dust cloud. All soldiers fired at the strange attackers; many were brought down with multiple bullet wounds but some did manage, despite several hits, to reach the doughboys and exact a savage reprisal.

A platoon of Harlem Hellfighters placed themselves on the left of the battleline; they were the closest combatants to the dust wall. Many homonculi burst out of the opaque cloud and rushed them. Several shots were hurriedly fired with all but two of the monsters brought down. These each set upon an unfortunate soldier with fierce growls and gory molestation. Before the fiends were brought down they had, in a matter of seconds, torn chunks of flesh off their victims and mangulated any part of the body their claws or teeth touched.

This was too much for two of the soldiers, they began to flee the platoon for their lives. Tarzan saw Vernon Waters turn around and shoot both retreaters in the back. If NCO Quirt noticed this he looked the other way. The enemy attacking was clearly the priority. The attacks came thick and fast, there were no more individual retreats; the platoon remained steadfast despite further horrific mutilations.

Other units had men turn tail and run at sight of the abominable attacks but Lt Gatz aired his feeling of positivity throughout the battle line and convinced many, but not all, to remain at their posts. A quick trip down several foxholes had him driving out many shivering shirkers to join the battleline. A few mounted Hotchkiss machine guns were set up evenly along the line.

A Harlem Hellfighter was set upon by one of the beasts; Tarzan saw him dodge the claws and split the monster open with a Bolo knife. The blade must have hit a crucial organ because the fiend collapsed dead on the spot. Mark, Vernon and the other black soldiers yelled a brisk jubilation.

Tarzan's use of the Springfield rifle was good only in that it hit the approaching target; he felt the frustration many soldiers had in seeing the monsters continue to attack after being hit. Some homunculi dropped after only five hits, others still advanced after receiving fifteen bullets and tear at least one of their shooters apart before succumbing. One such attacker got close to Tarzan and Eddie Bartlett; the latter's gun jammed. Tarzan remembered the Bolo knife defence; dropped his rifle and pulled out his own knife. The homunculi raised his arms and bore his fangs, Tarzan lunged forward and drive the blade into a point just below its throat; it dropped dead instantly.

Eddie Bartlett was retracting his rifle bolt to expel the jammed round. "How did you do with a knife what we couldn't do with a gun?"

"Tarzan can sense where heart is. I can see it beating when close." He replied.

A second homunculus lashed its claws for the jungle lord; Tarzan, with great agility, dodged the grope and jumped on the fiends back. The knife split its side open. Eddie saw the severed aorta and heart spill out of the wound, he had to roll aside to avoid the now dead monstrosity falling on top of him.

Tarzan felt a savage bloodlust awake in him coupled with a sense of triumph over an antagonist, he began to beat his bear chest with both fists and yell out a vocal siren of primal affirmation. Both homunculi and humans ceased combat to observe the one man spectacle.

He stepped forward wearing only his loincloth and knife belt; having since dispensed with his loose, tattered safari trousers. The nearest homunculus took a swipe at him that was cut short when Tarzan lunged forward and drive his blade into the beastly groin. Death suddenly took the creature before his dodged swipe was half finished.

Tarzan moved on the next target. His upbringing and lifestyle of always seeing apes' bare torsos and making out beating hearts allowed him to locate the randomly placed organ. A knife slash at a homunculus belly ended his heartbeat before his attack started.

Savage growls told the jungle lord that future antagonists were not going to wait for his approach. The first attacker raised his arms; revealing the location of his beating heart just below his armpit. Tarzan made an agile side dodge of the descending claws then, as the creature raised his arms again, slashed the crucial area with his knife. The snarling fiend slumped instantly.

Another attacker was dealt with by a knife thrown into his solar plexus. Tarzan moved fast to retrieve his blade from the dead foe. He extracted the blade just in time to slash open the side of his next charging antagonist. Several other homunculi moved towards the lone warrior. Tarzan had no time for drawn out combat or individual gestured challenges. Each antagonist had to be dealt with quickly with one slash or stab.

All the present soldiers, when they were not dealing with their own attackers, observed the jungle lord dish out a prompt death to all homunculi who approached him. If they ever advanced in pairs Tarzan would spirit himself away and attack a loner. The pair would pursue him but as individuals, allowing Greystoke to strike each down in quick succession.

Captain Flagg arrived at the scene with a company of marines, he ordered Lt Gatz to get the loin clothed fighter back over the lines. A dense new wave of grunting homunculi appeared in the distance. Many doughboys yelled at Tarzan to get back, but they had to compete with the gunfire, growling, snarling and blood lust. The latter had Greystoke jump on a homunculus back and stab his blade into the fiends neck; an odd location for the heart. The dead foe lurched forward sending his piggyback rider rolling to the soldiers' lines.

Eddie Bartlett seized him and threw him back behind the battle line. Multiple organised gunfire from the marines finished the remains of the current attack wave; it was the new oncoming wave that had soldiers crossing their hearts, kissing their cross pendants and saying final prayers. Captain Flagg set up extra mounted machine guns and ordered his men to stand firm.

All guns mounted fired into the oncoming wave of horrors. Many in the front row were cut down some copping as many as fifty bullets in them. Subsequent rows copped less, a few bullet ridden fiends got close to the battle line. As all guns fired one shot after another smoke came out of their firing chambers but no-one dared to stop.

This attack wave did not seem to have any end as each row of growling horrors got closer to the battle line. Then inevitably it happened several bullet ridden monsters tore through the line and reap savage atrocity on any soldier near it. Captain Flagg ordered all combatants to keep their fire on those still approaching and to hold the line. Those creatures who had breached the line were mostly brought down by either pistols, knifes and loose bayonets.

Further breaches were about to happen as many Homunculi got close to the battle line, when suddenly they all stopped, turned around and ambulated back to No Mans Land. Captain Flagg ordered a volley of grenades to hurled at the retreaters; all able soldiers complied and many homunculi were torn apart by the explosions.

Any homunculi who had breached the line and was not yet brought down desisted their savage work on the soldiers and moved to join the retreating mass. One such was near Eddie Bartlett; the doughboy fired his rifle into the beast's torso. This shot like several others had not found the heart or any other crucial organ. Tarzan could sense the necessary strike point was just under the throat, he lashed out with his knife but his attack was cut short by a backhand blow to the head.

His consciousness was fading; he saw the homunculus turn to exact a brief savage mutilation of both Eddie Bartlett and himself before trying to join his comrades. Tarzan was helpless, with his last fading vision he saw someone jump on the snarling monster's back and run a bolo knife into its misshaped eye socket, killing it. His rescuer was his son Korak.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Tom Swift called the embittered tank crew to order. "I have fixed the engine we'll be out of here in no time."

"Will they work upside down?" Asked Biggles.

"They sure will." Answered Tom. "I made them so that the gasoline feeds by air pressure, and that works in any position."

Hank and Tom wiped the grease of their hands before the latter discussed with Anthony the best means to drive out of the pit.

"It doesn't matter that we've turned turtle." Explained Ned. "The caterpillar tracks span the tank's height. We can move and with skill we can flip over back."

Biggles had spent the uncomfortable repair time listening to Benjamin Button recount his part in the glorious mass charge up the San Juan hill during the Spanish American War. The pilot was baffled as to how an individual who looks no more than fifteen could have been part of a military action that took place twenty years ago. It makes less sense than how he, an aviator, wound up in an overturned metal monstrosity buried underground with a pack of kids.

Gunfire and grenade blasts could be heard on the American lines which meant that the horde of grunting figures that passed above them were now engaging the entrenched soldiers.

Jason Gridley concentrated on his communication equipment; it seemed to function but he was endlessly flipping switches and turning dials. He dismissed any questions as to his intentions then put his earphones on, asking not to be disturbed.

"Here we go." Yelled Tom as the engine started. "Everyone grab your safety rings."

The tank lurched backwards. This was Jason's signal to take of his earphones and seize his designated gripping ring. He grabbed it just before the tracks hit the pit wall; they didn't stop. Biggles felt a strange sensation as the tank's rear began to rise; but this came to a shuddering halt as it dropped with a mighty thud. Everyone's gripping ring held its holder in place.

"Tom, we can try that again." Blared Anthony. "Make sure the tracks' teeth are firmly in the wall."

Another reverse motion sent the tank back to the pit wall. This time Tom kept the gear in full. The tracks bit into the near vertical slope and the vehicle's upturned front again raised. Dirt began to cascade past the gun ports. Jason let go of his ring and secured his equipment thus bracing it for the tipping. Gunners began to hang from their gripping rings as the vehicle virtually had its nose pointing to the sky All loose objects and dirt rolled to the back. Biggles could see the daylight through the port. There was a teasing moment when the tank teetered on its rear end as if it could fall either way. Its design favoured falling on its stomach and a sudden jolt nudged it in that direction. The fall was not as severe as all feared as the stomach landed on a diagonal incline of dirt. They were right way up again. Everyone let go of their gripping rings, set foot on the true floor and nursed their strained forearms.

"Everyone OK?" Yelled Tom, who was easing back into his right way up seat.

All crew members mumbled out a positive consensus.

"Hank. How are the engines?" Asked the young driver.

The mechanic spent a minute looking over the machinery. "They're fine Tom."

"Here we go, brace yourselves. We're going to see if we can drive out of this pit."

All gripping rings were seized again as the tank lurched forward. The dirt slope ended at the pit wall where the tracks bit into for traction. Upward went the front of the tank to stop two feet short of the pit rim. Tom maintained forward gear not wanting to lose this foothold in the wall.

Both rectangular grippers slid from their sockets; the cables, being pulled by cams and levers Tom was operating. They cleared the pit and stood vertically upon the above ground.

"Hank." Said Tom. " Those grippers are going to have to be hammered into the ground if these cables are going to pull us out of this pit."

"I'm on it Tom." Assured the mechanic as he picked up a sledge hammer and ladder.

"Ned, give Anthony and Biggles a rifle each. They can go out and cover him."

"You got it Old Man." Said Ned.

Ned opened the weapons locker and handed the two crewmen a Springfield Rifle each.

Hank opened the side hatch and left with the two riflemen following. Climbing out of the pit was easy. A cloud of dust enveloping the sky gave the landscape an alien twilight look; the many impact craters added to this eerie look. The wind had pushed a wall of dust back towards the German lines.

"That's good." Said Anthony. "Now they won't see us."

Mass gunfire could be heard on the American lines. A battle was raging. Footprints on the soft dirt of No Man's land revealed many enemies had passed without footwear, and feet that wasn't quite human.

Dark smoke marked the wreckage of the two German tanks that fired on them. Artillery had destroyed them utterly their was no chance of any crew surviving from either of them.

Hank erected the ladder beside on of the standing grippers then ascended the rungs and began to hammer the steel girder into the ground.

"That tank is heavy Hank." Said the sapir. "Those grippers will have to go deep if this is to work."

Discussion between the three indicated positivity rising after literally going down a hole.

Hank began to work on the second gripper. "If Ned is calling Tom "Old Man" again, then confidence in his friend's genius is returning."

Once the hammering was finished all crewmen except Tom left the tank and climbed to the surface. All waited to see if the tank could be driven out of the pit. Jason Gridley went aside to take an intense look at the enemy footprints.

"Well, here goes." Blared Tom through his megaphone."

The engines roared into action as the tracks bit into the pit wall and lifted the metal monstrosity's nose up towards the rim. Hydraulics reeled the cables in and tightened them. Both embedded grippers jerked but held firm as the attached cables dragged the tank to the rim. Tom increased the track's speed as the tanks body was carried over the edge. The cables continued to reel in as the vehicle went from diagonal to horizontal and rested its belly on the ground between the vertical grippers.

All crew members applauded the boy genius as he finished achieving the apparently impossible. This just left the job of extracting the steel girders from the ground before they could drive back to their lines.

A cloud of disturbed dust passed by the jubilant group.

Tom's voice blared through his megaphone again he was in the observation tower. "Everyone, get back in the tank, quick. The enemy are returning."

All rushed in for the safety of the tank. Only Biggles and Jason looked back to see the enemy horde bearing down on them. There was no attempt to shoot, nor did they seem to be uniformed. Biggles realised that this mass were not soldiers but homunculi, the savage figures created by Unit 11. Soon their grunts and growls were heard.

Both Biggles and Jason made for the tank they were the last in. The hatch closed behind them.

"Man your battle stations." Tom Yelled.

Benjamin, Biggles, Hank and Ned got to the gun ports and seized their designated machine guns. Anthony held his rifle and made sure all hatches were locked. Jason stayed at his communication equipment and noted its settings.

"This is a freak show." Said Benjamin as he saw the twisted horrors approach them.

Biggles fired into the mass; Benjamin followed suit. Any of the approaching figures that were brought down by the guns were just replaced by many others behind them. Soon the mass climbed over and enveloped the tank. Ned and Hank fired their machine guns as homonculi showed their misshapen faces at the gun port.

Savage grunting and growling was heard at every corner of the tank along with thumping and scratching. Machine gun fire was maintained as the attackers seemed to lack the sense to to stay clear of the gunports. A pale white and talon imbued hand groped through the port to try and seize Biggles' head before gunfire tore through the reacher's body. The hand withdrew as its owner collapsed.

Benjamin remained stalwart throughout this ordeal. Biggles feared the apparent lad would breakdown under the ferocity of this assault, but he displayed the hard courage of the most seasoned soldier. Perhaps by some quirk of fate he was at the San Juan Hill twenty years ago. It was Ned who began to break down under the savage intensity all around him. A few confident words from Hank and Tom kept him at his post.

Some homunculi managed a little group effort; several pushed up the front of the tank while others jumped up and down on the rear roof. These activities rocked the tank. Tom started driving the vehicle forward. It was still attached to the the embedded grippers, but after slackening the cables, the tank could move ten meters forward crushing anyone who was in front of it. Hideous screams reverberated as many of these monsters were crushed by the huge metal bulk. Tom reached the forward limit then reversed the tank to its previous position. Sure enough more of those screams occurred as these beings seemed to lack the sense to get clear.

Taking care not to reverse back into the pit. Tom repeated this forward and backward motion: he was killing as many of these enemy as were the gunners. Biggles kept up a constant fire rate but noticed that many homunculi that had already received many bullets get up and harass the tank again. These were definetely Unit 11's synthetic horrors.

Ned cried out. "They don't die. They just keep coming." When his gun jammed, that did it. He broke down and collapsed on the floor.

Anthony Rogers moved in to clear the mechanism. A monstrous hand groped through the port to menace him. The sapper took out his pistol and fired it through the aperture; the pale arm withdrew; so Anthony continued clearing the jam. Once finished he manned the machine gun himself and built up his own body count.

Jason Gridley remained at his equipment; he had radioed a distress call to Headquarters, but he seemed to be preoccupied in keeping his sound equipment at its current setting.

A battalion of German soldiers approached from their lines. They seemed intent on securing the wreckage of their own tanks, but they clearly took an interest in this previously unseen tank. Hank and Anthony saw many of the Bosch prime their stick grenades. They wanted to cripple the metal wonder and kill its crew, so they can take it for their research, even though that would wipe out their freaky allies.

The machine gunners wasted no time they turned their bullets at the grenade throwers; several were cut down before hurling their explosive presents. A few grenades were in flight before the battalion backed off.

"Gripping Rings." Yelled Hank.

Everyone seized their designated fixtures before multiple explosions rocked the heavily armoured vehicle left and right. Biggles felt the soreness come back to his stressed out forearms.

"Hey, we survived a volley of grenades." Yelled Tom. "This armour is tough."

"The tracks may be damaged though Tom," Said Hank.

"Anyone want to go out and see?" Said Anthony.

"There are still monsters out there." Warned Biggles. "The stick grenades did not drive them away."

"No, they wouldn't." Announced Jason. "These things are single mindedly devoted to getting in this tank."

"How can you be so sure?" Inquired Biggles.

"Because I summoned them here. I have just managed to reproduce the subliminal sound which attracts them. Success came just as we were crawling out of he pit."

"But you were maintaining that setting when they were attacking us" Accused Biggles. "Why didn't you turn it off, so they would go somewhere else."

"They couldn't get to us in this tank. We were equipped to wipe them out. Better they were here, futilely engaging us, than in the trenches massacring our soldiers."

"It worked out well." interjected Tom. "They're only a few left outside."

"Plus the German grenadiers." Said Benjamin.

"Not quite." Announced Anthony. "The Bosch are fleeing back to their lines."

"What's driving them off?" Asked Hank.

Multiple rifle fire began to shower down on the tank. The few homunculi who remained near the vehicle were all getting hit. Their thuds on the ground after dying under a storm of bullets, were heard by all in the mobile fortress.

"It's our own forces." Yelled Tom. "There is not a single monster left alive around us."

Hank lifted Ned to his feet. "It looks like your Great War Tank is a success Tom."

Tom Swift howled in jubilation.

Biggles opened up the side hatch to be greeted by the Americans.

"Everyone OK?" Asked the officer.

"This tank kept us safe. Everyone is fine." Answered Biggles.

"Splendid Old Sport."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Night was falling over the super zeppelin base as the sounds of battle subsided. Mors and Irma's wait was almost over: their vigilance was relaxed as the perimeter guard had ceased his passes.

"Looks like Tristan got to him." Whispered Irma.

Mors agreed but still the lookout tower watch could yet spot them.

Darkness brought low visibility and their much needed compatriot Gregor Samsa. The human insect had flown over No Mans' Land as soon as it was dark enough, then honed in on the two spies carrying the recently prepared attractant. He flew into the forest and crawled through the trees to greet Mors and Irma.

"You're right on time Gregor." Said Mors.

Irma pointed to the lookout tower and indicated that this particular guard had to be silenced. Gregor waited for the watchman to turn his back then sprouted his wings and darted diagonally up to the high platform and drove his barbed tarsus through the unfortunate man's neck and throat. There was no death scream. Gregor leaned the corpse against a post above the platform then darted back to the forest.

Fighter planes patrolled the night sky watching for not only aerial attack but activity on the perimeter. They maintained their pattern so Gregor's action was not noticed.

"Tristan should be back at our lines by now." Said Irma.

"And Hugo is probably ready to make his move." Said Mors.

The moment they were waiting for arrived with the sound of many engines filling the sky. Sirens wailed as G8 and his air squadron flew out of the dark sky and approached the base. Flack guns began to fire and the patrol planes veered to intercept the aerial raiders. G8 and his fellow airmen strafed the base once; taking care, in accordance with the plan, not to hit the super zeppelin. All planes then turned away and fled with the patrol planes and several other enemy craft from a nearby base in pursuit. The flack guns ceased as the alert wound down and the sirens hushed.

"G8 did his part well." Said Mors. "Everyone in the base is probably wondering why they didn't try to bomb the zeppelin."

An explosion on the far perimeter turned all base attention away from the sky. All security staff with torches, guard dogs and rifles ran to the disturbance. Only the lookout tower guards remained at their posts and the only one the League was concerned with was dead.

"Hugo Drummond has played his part." Said Mors. "Now we must play ours."

Both Irma and Mors were grabbed by Gregor then lifted up into the air, over the perimeter fence and high into the night sky. To save them a suspenseful walk through an enemy base, Gregor brought them down at a dark spot close to the zeppelin's rudder.

Many guards with rifles told them that the super zeppelin had its own security detail posted. The rudder was easily reachable from a deck several feet above the ground.

"That deck is where you have to get to." Said Mors. "I believe I can distract the guards."

Irma evaluated the scene. "Walking across this ground won't work; even if the guards are distracted."

"Gregor can take you there."

"No. He will be heard." Whispered Irma while pointing at a mooring cable.

"That cable can get me to the deck." She added.

A tall building, probably a workshop, had its roof close to the cable, which passes close to the deck before reaching the ground. Mors noted that a lamp post illuminated the particular length that will have to be traversed.

"You mean a flying fox." Asked Mors.

"Yes Captain." Whispered Irma. "I can do it, with the dispenser in my backpack, but the guards will have to be distracted for those few seconds."

"Just you leave that to me."

Gregor agreed to stay out of sight until needed.

Irma climbed to the top of the closed workshop with all the silence and grace of the cat burglar she was. The backpack did not slow her down much. When she got there, she was a barely discernible shadow, but Mors made out that she easily cast a belt over the mooring cable. She was ready.

Mors entered the area with all the walk and poise of a proud Prussian officer. The guards called for him to halt; Mors did so and gave a military salute. All guards stepped away from their positions to get a close look at the surprise presence, but not to Irma's satisfaction.

"Who's in charge here?" Demanded Mors.

One guard called for their Sergeant, who came out at once to see the superbly decorated officer standing proud in front of his watch. Mors gleaned his name from the secondary calls made by the befuddled guards.

"Sergeant Himmelstoss." Said Mors while giving a military salute. "Don't you recognise a Captain in the Imperial Prussian forces?"

Himmelstoss was lost for words then gave his own salute. "Your uniform is strange Captain."

"It has been specifically designed for me. Now why aren't your men attending to the security concern on the far perimeter?"

"Captain, we have orders to remain here and guard the zeppelin's rear no matter what."

"Sergeant, there has just been fierce fighting on the front and there is probably fighting now on the far perimeter. Your'e telling me that you just sit all that out here?"

"Well, well, not sit." He said awkwardly.

"Sergeant, I am going to demand an undertaking from you and your men." Mors commanded in such a way that the Sergeant needed to redeem himself.

"We can't leave our posts, Captain."

"No need." Said Mors. " I want your men to gather in front of me."

All guarded looked at each other, then after a nod from Himmelstoss, complied.

Mors turned the assembled soldiers' attention to the night sky.

"See that twinkling body up there?" Asked Mors. "That is Mars, the god of war."

All soldiers spotted the distant planet indicated.

"Since your duty does not require you to see action on the front." Said Mors. "Just in case this passive post has worn away your recruitment oaths; I want you all to pledge loyalty to the god of war."

The guards looked puzzled.

"What do we say?" Asked one of them.

"Repeat after me while saluting Mars and do not take your eyes off him during the pledge."

All soldiers including Himmelstoss saluted the twinkling body in the sky, then repeated Mors' words.

"I swear by Mars, the god of war, that despite my low risk position, my allegiance to the demands of war is solid and absolute; so help us Mars."

Mors saw Irma make her move during the pledge; she sailed down the mooring cable, flying fox style, with ease then jumped onto the deck during her flight. There was minimal landing noise and no utterance of pain. She was a true professional who quickly moved out of sight to do her work.

Mors turned his attention back to the soldiers. "Well done. Return to your positions." He gave the military salute and received one from all in return before turning his caped back and walking into the darkness.

Irma got to the rudder and found a part of it narrow enough to clamp the dispenser on. She was always looking up while screwing the clamps tight, lest one of the guards should suddenly be looking down on her. Such vigilance was silly, she considered, a guard stepping on the deck would have been heard. Nevertheless, each turn of the clamp screws seemed to come with intense suspense.

When she finished the fastening it was tested and proved to be fixed strong to the rudder. Irma the turned a switch to begin a slow dispensation of the attractant.

Footsteps on the deck revealed a guard's proximity. Irma was close to being discovered and caught: the dispenser could also be discovered.

A seasoned operator in silence and shadow, Irma quietly squeezed into a dark corner then placed her own personal gas mask on. She brought a cylinder from her backpack and turned the nozzle. The nearby guard was a few inches from seeing her when he started looking this way and that for for some sort of danger. He left the deck and showed a state of panic to his fellows.

Sergeant Himmelstoss and all other soldiers went to the troubled guard.

"What's the matter with you?" Demanded Himmelstoss.

Trembling and vague mumblings were all the guard could manage.

"Out with with it." Commanded Himmelstoss as he began to shake the man.

"What's the bloody matter?" The sergeant began to slap, then punch the soldier who seemed to be letting the side down so soon after a pledge to the god of war.

Other soldiers began to look around themselves frantically; a few began to hit Himmelstoss with their rifle butts as if he was the object of their fears. The Sergeant was knocked down. he would've got up and laid into his assaulters, but he found himself overcome with fear.

"Look, up in the sky." Yelled one of the guards. "It's Mars, the god of war, he's coming to strike us into oblivion for letting him down."

All soldiers looked up to the stars. Irma saw nothing, but they all seemed to see some divine threat. The group panic was frenzied, they all ran screaming for some indoor shelter where they could fortify themselves, hide under a table or huddle in some corner.

Irma closed the nozzle on her cylinder then casually walked away from the deck and rejoined Captain Mors and Gregor in the darkened street.

"It appears you made good use of Crane's fear inducing gas." Said Mors.

Irma took off her gas mask. "The idea is not new; just the type of gas."

Mors did not want further explanation; that was good. The cat burglar did not want to reveal that she used to put whole society party's to sleep with knckout gas before robbing them of their jewelery.

With all assurance given that the dispenser was placed, Irma and Mors allowed Gregor to take them into his embrace and be lifted into the sky and placed in the forest just beyond the perimeter fence.

"We should have Gregor take us all the way back to the American lines." Said Mors. "Both Hugo and Tristan will be back across No Man's Land by now."

"We will." Answered Irma who had spotted something under the forest brush. "Tristan did something before he left."

She revealed the dead body of the perimeter guard they had noticed before. The top of his head was bloody.

"He has been scalped." Said Irma. "I now know what those furry adornments are on Tristan Ludlow's stick."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Tarzan woke to the sound of an accordion, he was in bed; a hospital bed. The smell of blood, detergent, chloroform and other medical fluids flooded his nostrils. A few soft words in German reached his ears: Tarzan's vision was slowly unblurring, but he heard the Hun words and feared the worst. Had he survived a nightmare battle only to have the enemy seize the hard defended ground and take him prisoner?

"Your'e awake." Said a voice in English. "Look at me."

A hand grabbed his jaw and directed the blurry eyes towards the voice. "Look at me."

Bright light shone in his unfocused eyes.

"I am Doctor Philip Carey. You must re-orient your senses. Look at the light."

Amidst an accordion melody and hospital smells and a hand moving his jaw, Tarzan directed his eyes into the bright light which then faded out as the doctor's face faded in and smiled.

"There you go." Said Philip Carey while while moving his finger around and analysing the patients visual receptiveness. "Your'e doing well and be right as rain soon."

"Where am I?" Tarzan mumbled."

"In a field hospital. You took a shock to the system while in the field."

Doctor Carey took the jungle lord's pulse and temperature. Tarzan noticed the German accordian player; he had a bandage on his head.

"He's a friendly POW." Said the doctor. "His name is Hans Hubermann, means no harm to anyone. So you just relax."

Philip Carey moved off to check on other patients. Tarzan observed his footsteps and figured that the doctor either had or once had a clubbed foot.

Two beds to his right had American soldiers with leg injuries. James Darmody had screws placed in his bone after copping some grenade shrapnel. Next to him James Apperson had his wounded limb amputated. Both had a level of depression but drew Tarzan's attention to the curtained bed on his left; in it was Private Joe Bonham.

"If we are unfortunate." Said Jim Apperson. "He got the worst injuries imaginable."

The doughboy who new morse code was blasted by the fierce artillery fire; his arms and legs were torn off, his face destroyed, eyes and ears smashed. An emergency tracheotomy allows him to breath.

"They should not have given him the means to breathe." Said James Darmody. "It would be best if he dies before he realises the extent of his bodily damage."

A bed curtain whipped open at that moment and a bespectacled young doctor wielding a syringe with bright green fluid in it, left Joe Bonham's bed and berated James for his attitude.

"Doctor Herbert West, your'e not supposed to be here." Yelled Apperson. "You should not meddle with Joe's fate; we must let him die peacfully."

"You ingrates fail to appreciate that which is most precious." Berated Herbert. Tarzan could see that the bespectacled doctor was driven to achieve some challenging purpose. "Private Joe Bonham is extremely blessed to have me watching over him. I didn't meddle with him."

Herbert West put extra force behind his next words. "I gave him life!"

This argument was about to get heated when Doctor Carey came back, demanded a cessation and ordered Herbert West to a different ward. The driven life advocate left immediately.

Philip Carey quickly checked on Joe Bonham then moved away to attend other patients.

Hans Hubermann was taken prisoner after American soldiers sneaked into the length of trench he was manning; as soon as he noticed them, they slammed a rifle butt into his head knocking him out. When he came to he was in an American dugout with other German captives: his head had been bandaged. An officer was interrogating the group about the homunculi.

Although Hans said nothing he was singled out by an aide who fixed a stare on him. The interrogator asked him his name, rank and serial number: Hans provided them then resolved to say nothing more. There were questions about the homunculi; though Hans feigned complete ignorance he could tell from the satisfied look of the staring aide that somehow they were gleaning facts derived from his observations of the synthetic horrors.

Soon the questioning ended and most POWs were dispatched to camps while Hans and a few wounded were sent to hospital. On the way out Hans was presented with his accordian by the aide. Astonishment took the prisoner: the Americans had bothered seizing his accordion along with him; and the aide knew it belonged to him.

At the hospital, his head wound was treated by Dr Philip Carey who allowed him to sit and play his accordian while he recuperates.

It took several days for the swelling in his head to go down. He could here battles raging on the front while he played somber music.

The time came when MPs came to collect him for the POW camps, but they stood aside while three Americans questioned him further. They were Intelligence agent Clayton Andrews, communications technician Jason Gridley and that all staring aide, his name was Ted Brautigan. The interrogation was brief and Ted's stare intense; in the end they seemed to reach agreement that there was nothing more they can glean from him.

Hans was handed over to the MPs. Jason Gridley was about to leave with the others when he cast a glance towards Tarzan in his bed. Both sets of eyes locked in a mutual stare. Neither Tarzan nor Jason could tell what possible affinity the two had with each other. Clayton placed his hand on the technicians shoulder; this snapped Jason's out of his stare and he left the hospital with the others.

Korak paid a brief visit to his father, bringing with him Lt James Gatz who informed the jungle lord that the American line held and the freaky homunculi were annihlated. Tarzan was told that he had made a legend of himself on the front line. All soldiers who witnessed his bravado will praise him over campfires and mess hall talks where his legend will spread throughout the allied military.

After the visit Tarzan wondered how many James' must there be; there was James Gatz, then there was James Darmody and James {Jim} Apperson next to him, and now here comes James Bigglesworth. The pilot had a brief word with Dr Carey then told the jungle lord it was time to leave, he was being discharged.

Biggles took Tarzan to a car with Lindo at the driver's seat. The Indian crewman drove the two League members to an airfield where the _Luftpirat_ was moored. He steered the vehicle up the access ramp into the airship which lifted immediately into the sky.

Captain Mors, Irma Vep and Gregor Samsa were on the bridge, they greeted Biggles and Tarzan.

"I apologise for the rush gentlemen." Said Mors. "The super zeppelin has just lifted off and is leaving a chemical trail that we must move fast to follow before it goes cold.

"I hear we have had various experiences while on the front, we can talk of those on the way."

Gregor indicated to the helmsman to go south. The chemical attractant was remaining stable in mid air, the wind was light and would not disturb the trail. The man insect was sensing the chemical droplets from the dispenser quite well.

M called in on the radio. "So our breadcrumb plan seems to be working. You should soon find the source of this military madness and I pray you all work together to put an end to it. This is a dangerous and necessary mission, but also a grand and thrilling adventure. If it plays out well you can all take pride in that together you have saved the world, and that all people will soon see an end to this all consuming war. When the doves of peace flutter into the skies and the sweet melodies of a harp resonate among the silent battlefields; it will be due to the efforts you all are about to impart as the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Goodbye and good luck."

All League members looked at each other as if their lives depended on one another. Gregor maintained his directional senses. The super zeppelin was faster and getting further away but the trail remained sound. Mors. Irma, Biggles and Tarzan sat down in the lounge to share their frontline stories.

The _Luftpirat_ was crossing the Mediterranean sea when Izzy Buttons stormed into the lounge dragging someone with him.

"Look here Captain." He Said. "We have a stowaway."

All League members recognised the young man dragged before them.

He was Tom Swift.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

The bow windows of the Diogenes Club gave a wide screen view of Pall Mall; for Mycroft Holmes it was like staring into a giant aquarium of people. His seat was comfortable, allowing him to immerse himself in his observations. People going this way and that; he could deduce instantly their occupation, marital staus and purpose for being in the Mall. Some were shopping, others meeting aquaintances and partaking in cafe delights, a few were just passing through. Like the Club steward who was going home after his shift had just finished.

Mycroft's highly deductive mind was fixed on an exchange between a woman trying to sell war bonds to a gentleman. The woman was Sylvia Scarlett, a notorious con artist; the bonds were obviously fake. M took out his fob watch and timed an expected happening to occur when the second hand hits the ten: right now it was on the eight. Ticking drove the hand round as it passed the nine, the two people smiled and grasped each others hands for an apparent two handed handshake. The handcuffs snapped on Sylvia's wrists just as the second hand reached ten. She tried to jerk her arms back but the man held them in place and clamped the binding implement tight.

"I still got it." Said Mycroft to himself. "My timing is perfect."

A signal from the man, who was clearly a detective, had several uniformed police constables come out of their hiding spots and take the protesting Sylvia Scarlett into custody. M saw the trap easily for he recognised the detective; it was Sexton Blake, a sleuth whose skill came close to rivalling that of Mycroft's brother.

Con artist Sylvia Scarlett tried to sell fake bonds to Sexton Blake. The outcome was so predictable, but M's brilliant mind managed to time the arrest perfectly.

As he pocketed his fob watch M cast a glance at two youths on their way to war; he had met them before entering the club: they were Albert Narracott and Tom Grattan; he wished them well.

Mycroft had previously predicted that the Great War would end before the year's end and those boys would see only a minor amount of frontline risk and action. However, these new innovations Germany was introducing could not omly prolong the conflict but make it infinately more horrible. These youths could be heading into a human mincer of hellish proportions if this Unit 11 goes unchecked.

He had formed the emergency League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and seen it on its way. It had to succeed; the alternative was too horrid to even contemplate.

M got up off his chair and felt a mild vertigo unbalance him; he recovered but realised while his mind was in top form, his body was failing him. He was getting old and far more obese than when in his prime. As he made his way down the stairs he kept his hand on the wall for support. Retirement was often suggested to him, but he must see his country through this fiery trial of war. Joining his brother in the South Downs keeping bees and making honey did not appeal to him at all. Relaxation was to be found here in the Diogenes Club.

Upon reaching the newspaper room, inertia from his trip down the stairs sent him stumbling into one of the peaceful readers. A lavender smell together with the sight of the bald head and fine moustache told M he had just fell into Hercule Poroit, who, true to club rules, did not say a word, just lifted up his peridical and resumed his read.

Mycroft resumed his balance and headed for his chair. Who let that tubby Belgian exile into the Club? He pondetred quietly. Poroit did somewhat remind him though of his detective brother.

Another light stumble knocked a wide open newspaper held by J. G. Reader. The bitter detective lowered the peridical to show his displeasure at the interferance; but did not yell out a complaint, just blew an angry exhale through his plush muttonchop whiskers. Another detective, M seems to run into them as a constant reminder of his absent brother.

A steward noticed Mycroft's awkward strides and helped him to his seat, handed him his choice newspaper then took a written order for warm brandy and a cigar. Before he unfolded the periodical Mycroft observed the other patrons; they had scrutinised his awkward mobility and suggested merely through eye contact that he not only be put out to pasture but be placed in an old peoples' home.

His brandy had arrived, it was warmed to correct temperature. Mycroft was going to relax and read while sipping spirit and puffing on Cuban tobacco. The cigar was handed to him by another steward. M placed it in his mouth and let the server clip the cigar tip with the Diogenes scissors. The first steward was going to light the tip. M's attention was on the other steward: he was wearing the suit of the employee Mycroft saw leave through the Mall; the cigar scissors were raised to stabbing position; he was an imposter and he was Ivan Dragomiloff.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

A corridoor of clouds was the spectacular view given to the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen as the _Luftpirat_ traversed the misty firmament. Frequently the passengers would look down to a God like perspective of the vista below. They had flown down the Suez canal, over the horn of Africa and into the vast splendour of the Indian Ocean.

Gregor was often approached to confirm that his senses were still on the super zeppelin's trail, especially now that he was leading them into an oceanic nowhere. The man insect was confident; the pheromonal breadcrumbs left the perfect aerial trail.

Tom Swift shared the luxury view the League had. When he was thrown before them in the lounge; a few words from Biggles about his achievments regarding the Great War Tank; had the group welcome him into their fold. Captain Mors lifted his domino mask and showed all the pleasant social graces of European aristocracy; Biggles treated him like a valuable co-pilot and Gregor gave a playful articulation of his limbs. Both Tarzan and Irma showed a good deal of joviality towards him, but he kept his contact with these two to a minimum. Yes, they saved him from Fraulein Doktor's trap but the savagery they employed was frightening.

The instrumentation on the deck fascinated Tom even more than the view of the Earth below. This gadgetry the crew were constantly monitoring is what removed all fear aviators would have when flying through clouds. It stopped the airship running into a solid obstacle, a storm or turning upside down unawares. The young stowaway's new welcome was clearly limited when the crew barred him inspecting the strange instrumentation. Mors and Izzy Buttons soon forbade him to go in the instrument room, engine room and control room. This technology was clearly not meant to be copied.

Lindo was setting up a tripod and camera in the lounge; this was one of the few rooms left for Tom to be in. He was assigned a cabin but preferred the wondrous view the ornate suite offered. Biggles, Mors, Irma, Tarzan and Gregor all lined up as Lindo poured magnesium powder into the flash lamp. Biggles was in his pilot attire. Mors in his Captain's uniform and domino mask tucked away. Irma in her black burglar's gear and dark eye shadow. Tarzan was stripped to his loin cloth while a quiver of arrows was the sole adornment up above; his bow was held in his hand. Gregor stood erect on his hind limbs for the shot.

When the flash bar exploded in bright light everyone relaxed their poses. As Lindo began to pack away the camera, a general discontent came over the League members. All had noticed Tom Swift watching the proceeding and bade Lindo to prepare the camera for a second shot; this time with the young American beside them.

Tom was elated; although not designated by M, he had virtually joined the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Lindo took the second picture with a smiling Tom Swift standing with the expanded group.

Gregor resumed his post, keeping track of the aerial trail. Mors went back to the control room, the others sat down in the lounge and briefed Tom on the mission.

The vastness of the Indian Ocean began to take its toll on morale. Only the occasional island broke the monotony of flying over the big blue, and they were becoming rare. Many considered both their position and destination as "The middle of nowhere."

Finally, Gregor gave indication that they were closing in on the now stationary super zeppelin. As the League members directed their stares ahead, an island began to appear through the cloudy mist. Mountains dominated the surface, all dwarfed by a huge volcanic crater in the centre. Mist and swamp vapours circled the many cliffs which made a purely ocular speculation difficult. Mors ordered the crew to lift the _Luftpirat_ into the clouds to be kept hidden.

All observation was to be done through the scope. A full circle of the island was completed from cloud cover. A zeppelin base and shipping harbour was seen on the far side. Although predominately mountains, there was both swamp and jungles. No village could be seen, all human activity seemed to be people going in and out of the mountains.

Mors Said. "They must have a huge residential and industrial complex within the mountains' interior."

Biggles asked. "How can you tell about the industrial activity?"

"Look." Replied Mors as he pointed through the scope at vents in the rocky surface. "Theirs black smoke coming out of those vents. They are effectively chimneys."

When the scope focused down the volcanic crater a metallic interior could be made out with multiple catwalks and ladders fixed to the inner side. Bright flashing lights could be observed deep within the crater and the shape of a rocket could be just made out.

"Tom said. "So there is scientific activity within that volcano."

"Yes" Said Mors. "The volcano is clearly dormant, probably even extinct. But this is where Unit 11 is and Totenkopf will be there, overseeing all research and development.

A brief discussion ensued about what to do. Irma advocated bombing the crater from above, thus obliterating the works. Mors responded with a restrained disgust that he has no bombs or any other destructive weaponry that belongs in the realm of war. Tarzan suggested flying to Kenya and gathering colonial forces to storm the island. Biggles' reply was that it was best if the world remains ignorant of this mad science. M sent them here to deal with this horror themselves.

"We land on the island." Said Tom. "Then we make our way into the mountain complex discreetly and closely observe this science in operation. Shouldn't be hard to seek out some volatility then exploit it."

"You mean." Asked Irma. "Throw a spanner in the works."

"That's right." Answered Tom.

Mors and Biggles turned to each other then back to The brash young American.

"The lad is right." Said Mors. "He's nailed what we need to do."

"Hang on." Objected Biggles. "If we land on that island, they will surely see us coming."

"Quite right." Answered Mors. "The _Luftpirat_ will stay out of sight. We can approach the island by boat.

Biggles gave a reluctant approval. Being without an airplane was bad enough for the ace pilot, traversing enemy ground on foot was so out of his element.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

The beach was narrow and sandwiched between two coastal cliffs. This is where the motorised boat brought The League, while Executive Officer Brieux kept the _Luftpirat_ out of sight. Four Indian crewman with rifles joined the League as they jumped on to the sand and made their way inland to the cover of jungle. Lindo was driving the landing craft he promptly moored the boat at a hiding spot then remained with it.

This was the apparently undeveloped side of the island; there were no ports, airfields or lookout towers. The inhabitants did not seem to be watching this side.

Tarzan called everyone to a halt just before reaching the cover of trees.

"This jungle not feel right." He exclaimed. "It has strange things in it."

Mors and Biggles bade everyone to continue. "Nevertheless. We have to proceed." Said Biggles.

The ape man reluctantly joined the reckless bunch. Beyond the first row of trees the rainforest proved to be spacious with much grassy ground between the arboreal wonders. The canopy was still plush and would provide the needed cover.

A galloping creature the size of a small dog darted across the ground in front of them. It had all the appearance speed and mannerisms of a horse, it even gave a utterd a whinny before it disappeared into the foilage.

"That was a very small pony." Exclaimed Irma.

"That was no pony." Said Mors. "That was an Eohippus."

"It can't be." Yelled Biggles. "They're prehistoric and extinct."

"Not here." Answered Mors.

Before further explanation was attempted multiple little galloping sounds permeated the forest. A whole herd of about thirty minature equines bolted through the area, some even ran straight past stunned individuals among the explorers. These often let out a desprate whinny when manouvering through the largely human obstacle course while maintaining a frenzied pace.

Tarzan recognised fear in the little horses motivation and the creature they were fleeing soon came into view. A large beaked head broke out of the canopy and travelled across the air with its long neck behind it. In an instant it darted to the ground and seized an Eohippus foal in its beak. The kicking prey ceased its struggle as the walking bird came into full view astride large ostrich legs, yet the wingless predator was twice the size of an ostrich or a man.

All rifles were levelled at the feathered monstrosity but Mors demanded all to lower them and not to move. Gregor did raise himself on his hind legs just to get a sense of their height.

"That's an elephant bird." Said Mors. "Another supposedly extinct species."

All unsaid questions about whether it was the last one or a solitary throwback were quashed when several more of the predatory bipeds entered the clearing. They gave no attention to the motionless humans, being only concerned with getting a share of the first elephant bird's kill. They began to peck at the unfortunate foal in their brother's beak. The whole bunch of them moved away still pecking for shreds of meat.

"Your'e right Tarzan." Uttered Biggles. "This jungle does have strange things."

Tom Swift said. "First Eohippi then elephant birds. This Dr Totenkopf must have found a way to bring them back from extinction. If he can do something so wonderful, why is he making things so monstrous?"

Mors answered. "Because he has lost the plot Tom. Thus we must deal with him."

Irma asked. "What else has he brought from the far past?"

No one was in a position to answer but Irma's query had dark overtones.

Tarzan led the troupe through the tropical greenery but he would often stop to hone his senses on an indistinguishable possible threat. These pauses became too frequent that Tom took the lead with Mors behind him. At one point Tom stepped between two green screens into a moist surface; he was about to proceed when Mors noticed a set of bones near Toms feet. The Luftpirate quickly seized Tom's shirt collar and yanked him back just before the giant Venus fly trap closed on the space where the American was half a second ago.

"Now all of you better listen." Announced Mors to the shocked group. "This island is nothing like Earth. From now on you must act like you are on another planet with dangers you cannot forsee."

The trek continued cautiously though it was increasingly being written off as a bad idea. A gap in the jungle canopy gave Irma a view of the volcano's peak and a new idea. She called everyone to attention but before she could explain Tarzan demanded silence. All knew his look, it was one of approaching danger; it had to be strange because he was struggling to put words to their peril.

"Numa." Uttered the jungle lord."

Tom knew Numa was Tarzan's word for lion. Sure enough a fierce big cat roar reverberated throughout the scene. That which jumped out of the foilage was much bigger than any lion; there was no mane but frontal muscles that bulged with strength and faint stripes. It was the teeth that told all; two thick elongated canines stretched from its upper jaw to below the chin. It was a sabre toothed tiger; Totenkopf had brought this primordial monster back from the Pleistocene age to guard this side of the island.

Tarzan was its intended prey but the ape man had sensed the approach and darted up a tree just as the the claws raked the air in his wake. The rifleman came out of their shock when the beast charged them, they had barely time to raise and no time to aim. the first two were bowled over by its massive bulk, the third got a shot off but the tiger's movements were different from that of his Asian cousin and the rushed fire missed. A claw raked the rifleman's chest, sweeping him aside in agony.

The fouth rifleman could not fire without endangering Mors and Tom who were unfortunately in the beast's vivcinity. Irma stood in the deep dark shade of a tree and tried to look part of it. Despite the fact that the tiger would have smelt her it attacked Mors and Tom. The former's pistol was the only weapon between them. When the striped fury pounced it was knocked aside by a swinging limb from Gregor. Its fury re-directed at the man insect, the tiger snarled baring the full length of its sabre teeth. Gregor went down on his belly and withdrew his head into the thorax. The tiger pounced, past Mors and Tom knocking each down, landing onto the insect back and raked its carapace with its claws to no avail, even the sabre teeth could not penetrate Gregor's armour.

A shot from the rifleman hit the big cat but only seemed to anger it; in one pounce and a few steps the tiger was on the Indian, whose rushed second shot missed the frenzied attacker. Powerful forelegs pushed over the crewman with a set of claws embedded in his chest another set shifted to his face. Tarzan leaped onto the tiger's back from the branches above, his knife was ready to stab the creature's neck but a powerful jump up with a fierce growl threw the ape man ten feet to the side. The tiger resumed its forleg press down on the agonised crewman then dug its sabre teeth deep into the victim's chest until its lower jaw also clamped on the ribs. Those nearby heard the cage get crushed under the vice like bite. A snarl erupted from the blood drenched jaws as the tiger laid claim to its kill, then resumed its hold on the slain crewman and carried it away with surprising speed.

Everyone took a few seconds to come out of their shock and Gregor out of his shell. The two uninjured riflemen got up to tend to their surviving crewmates scratched chest. Irma stepped out of the dark shadow still half frozen with terror. Tarzan, Tom and Mors got to their feet.

"I can't risk any more of my crew traversing this savage jungle." Announced Mors. "We should turn back and re-plan."

"We don't have to." Explained Irma. "We can see the volcano's peak from here. Gregor can carry us there one at a time. Once there we make our way down the industrial interior. That should be more stealthy than going in through a ground level entrance."

Gregor looked through the canopy gap and gave a positive gesture to that plan. Biggles and Tom nodded affirmatively, only Tarzan showed a level of concern, he had not been in Gregor's embrace yet.

Mors turned to his crewmen. "Take our injured shipmate back to the beach. Lindo will come with the boat and drive you back to the _Luftpirat_. From this point its just me and The League. A portable stretcher was unfoldedfor the injured rifleman, Mors keeping his rifle, the two crewman began to carry their shipmate back to the beach.

Irma volunteered to go first as she can best assess the plan's feasability once she was up there. She raised her arms as Gregor clamped his limbs about her then lifted her up as he flew throught he canopy gap and higher than she had been before. Irma tried not to look down but she was travelling in a few minutes a distance that would've taken hours, deciding to look at the distant ground passing beneath her she felt more glorious than disorientating. All the terror that gripped her during the tiger attack was blown away by the thrilling sensation of flying so high.

Her feet rested on solid rock as Gregor landed on the crater's rim and relaxed his grip. The wind was only slight, it would not blow anyone away. A gaze down the crater verified what they saw from way above. Catwalks and ladders that could provide a way down into the interior.

"Thank you for a thrilling ride Gregor." Said Irma. "We can get down there from here. You can go get the others now."

Antennae and limbs all gestured positively as the man insect took off back to the jungle. Biggles put his hand up to go next but Gregor gestured that he could take two, so Tom was carried on one side while the pilot was carried on the other.

Vocal cries of rejoicement sounded from Tom's mouth as he was lifted up above the jungle roof. Gregor was not taking the high flight path this time as the double weight had him take a closer to the ground approach. For Tom it was still a thrill seeing the land pass beneath him so fast; yet for Biggles it was his vocation.

Gregor reached the side of the volcano then began to skirt its diagonal surface. Tom noticed a circular window suddenly open up on the mountain side ahead, feeling it could only be bad, he yelled out a warning to Gregor. Too late; when the man insect flew over the new hole, a large clicking sound brought a mesh of interlocked strands around the three travellers. Gregor suddenly found it difficult to fly, his wings could not function with all these strands, he could barely manage a soft landing on the mountain slope.

This was a net, a huge strong net. Gregor had to retract his wings but could not close his elytra as it was tangled in the netting which was tightening each second. He let his two passengers go as they were tangled too. His pincers made a little progress cutting the strands but the tightness was constricting his movements. All three were dragged up the slope as the net having caught them was being winched in. Soon they were dragged through the dark circular window, which closed behind them.

Irma noticed the capture by net and realised she was on her own. Mors and Tarzan were too far away. It was she who would have to sneak in to the complex and help the captured ones. Hey, she was a catburglar, it should be a piece of cake to her.

Tarzan and Mors saw the capture then stared at each other.

"They did see us coming." Said Mors.

"Looks like we're going to have to walk." Said Tarzan.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

When the net stopped being dragged through the darkness of the mountain interior, the three uncomfortable occupants had a few seconds to recover their orientation. Tom, Biggles and Gregor had no time for questions about what happened or "Are they OK?". Electrical sticks appeared out of the dark and prodded Gregor. Each prod gave an extended shock to the man insect and many sticks touched him multiple times. Gregor bellowed continuous shrill screams that were earsplitting. He was hopelessly tangled in the net and unable to move, his back was exposed as was his stomach since he could still not close and suture his elytra. His head could not be tucked in as his antennae were also tangled, There were many nerves just under the bare flesh for the cruel prods to work on, and they did.

Biggles and Tom pleaded with the stick bearers to stop this torture, they were just as helpless but not targeted by the prods. Some figures step out of the darkness and cut the two humans out of the entanglement and pulled them free of the net.

The electrical prodding of Gregor continued as his screams and threshing became more frenzied. Soon the man insect went into a seizure that had his abdomen bobbing up and down until his limbs shuddered frenetically. This was apparwently the moment to cease the cruel prodding. Gregor slumped into unconsciousness.

Biggles pistol was taken off him by the guards, who were dressed in the uniform of the Imperial German Navy. Gregor was cut free of the net and several guards lifted the bulky insect up and laid him down on a wheeled gurney, then proceeded to strap him tight, belly up. All six limbs were secured and a metal yoke placed around his neck, preventing the head from withdrawing into its shell. A taut mouth guard was fastened to prevent any oral attack.

Tom and Biggles were led down a corridor while Gregor was being wheeled beside them. A guard handed Biggles pistol over to figure waiting at the corridor's end. When the pilot's eyes adjusted to the light he recognised his recurring enemy in the air, Stalhein.

"Greeting Herr Biggles, we meet again." Said the Bosch.

"We don't often meet on the ground, Stalhein." Replied Biggles. "Last time we met you were lucky to reach the ground in one piece."

"Perhaps you should have stuck to your war duty." Stalhein smiled then noticed Tom. "Tom Swift, inventor of the Great War Tank."

"How do you know me?"

"You, have an invitation."

A wide open area opened up as the three League members found themselves in the volcano's interior, the sky could be seen through the high rimmed top. A catwalk lead to a metallic ramp, which they were taken down to the crater bed, which was a smooth and level floor. Science had clearly worked its wonder on the floor and walls turning this once rough natural interior into a place of civilized habitation.

There was much activity ahead with flickering lights. The rocket was there, it was as tall as an oak tree and shaped like a large white dart with metal wings where the plastic flights would be.

Electricity was clearly abundant here: not only was their many light fixtures for nighttime but an endless emission of sparks spitting out of the various scientific equipment. There were Jacob's ladders with continuous streaks of electricity passing between their terminals; Tesla coils glowing bright as power was conducted through them; cathode vacuum tubes sending their discharges this way and that. A Braun tube showed light parabolas on its glass screen, these were Lissajous curves, a physicist turned one of the tube's dials then the curves destabilised and shook, a careful return dial twist restored the pattern to its perfection, thus the harmonics he was working on balanced out. All scientists working in the vast laboratory directed their goggled eyes to the prisoners as they were being led through. Gregor was clearly the focus for interest.

Chemistry was the next section of the laboratory they were brought to. Beakers, flasks, tubes and other laboratory glassware had boiling liquid giving off a smell of petroleum. I was here that Stalhein halted the walk and presented the captives to the chief scientist.

Dr. Totenkopf had no lab coat on, just his suit, he was in his late sixties but looked much younger, his hair was black with just a few scattered strands of grey.

"Well well." He smoothed out. "What do we have here?"

He spoke in perfect English, as if he was a seasoned stage actor. No trace of his German nationality showed.

"Tom Swift, welcome. I have been so looking forward to you working with us."

As he approached the young American, Tom backed off to stand beside Biggles. The pilot stretched his arm in front of Tom in what he knew was a futile gesture and a biting irony. The League moved Heaven and Earth to rescue the lad from being taken by Unit 11, then end up virtually dishing him up to them on a silver platter.

Totenkopf took little interest in Biggles but rubbed his hand with pure delight when he saw the man insect secured on a gurney.

"So this is the Prague salesman who woke up one morning to find he was an insect." Said Totenkopf. "What wonders I could do with such a specimen."

"He's not a specimen Totenkopf, he's our friend." yelled Biggles.

Totenkopf turned to the pilot. "I have a sabre-toothed tiger out there, he's my friend. Shall I bring him in and introduce you?"

Tom cut in. "Oh, we've met him. Where did he come from?"

"I'm surprised you're still alive." Said the doctor while signaling one of his aides to bring something. "I made him."

Biggles and Tom turned to each other in bafflement then back to the doctor.

"Its called gene splicing. This is one of many wonders I will show and teach you once you are with us Tom."

A curtained set of shelves was wheeled in by Jorge Vargas.

"What other extinct species have you noticed on the island?" Asked Totenkopf.

Tom Answered. "Eohippus and Elephant bird."

Totenkopf smiled as he pulled aside the curtains to reveal large glass jars containing animal fetuses. He picked one out.

"Recognise this?"

Tom moved forward though Biggles kept his distance. Transparent fluid filled the jar, the immersed fetus was definitely a minute horse.

"This one did not survive but others grew in a synthetic uterus, were nurtured during infancy and then set free among the wild."

He shelved the jar and drew out another one. "Your elephant bird." The fetus was that of a large avian. Totenkopf showed another jar.

"Here is another bird that needs rescuing from extinction."

The fetus was of a large bird with a big beak, wide waist and short legs.

"A dodo bird." Said Tom. "You brought them back as well?"

"Not yet." Answered Totenkopf. "None have survived to birth as yet. But one of these days, they will waddle the Earth again."

A cat fetus was in the next jar. "Here is a brother to my sabre-toothed tiger. But the following jar is going to be a surprise."

What Tom saw in the contained fluid was a large lizard with a bony head. "Note the growths on the creature's back."

Tom did so and equated those growths with those on bird fetuses. "A flying lizard?"

"Something much more profound than that." Said Totenkopf.

Tom was bereft of any explanation, He looked up from the jar to Totenkopf.

"A dragon." Announced the doctor. "This island will see real live dragons in the years ahead."

"Will they breathe fire?"

Totenkopf grinned. "Maybe; it's too early to tell. But it will be one of many wonders we will create young man."

Biggles was concerned and Tom fascinated. This scientist seemed confident that the young American will voluntarily join him after being seduced by the extraordinary wonders on the verge of creation.

Another curtain was pulled aside to reveal more Jars, but these fetuses were humanoid.

One such jar was shown; it was a human fetus with no visible alterations. "I am working on creating the perfect human of tomorrow, one without the flaws of its current incarnation."

Totenkopf put the jar back and brought another into view. The fetus was clearly that of a homunculus, one of the many that terrorised the Western Front.

"This is a current achievment." Said Totenkopf. "You know of them I believe."

"Those things are monsters." Protested Biggles. "Why do put your genius into making those horrible homunculi?"

"Why indeed." Totenkopf returned the jar to its shelf and drew the curtains. "Because of the war. Mankind has set about destroying itself with this Great War. Well I'm just helping it along. These homunculi and those tanks not only serve my Kaiser and Fatherland but help take the gloves off human conflict allowing it to employ man's capacity for self destruction."

Tom moved away from the driven scientist and stood beside Biggles.

Totenkopf continued. "If I help the Kaiser win this war, then he will continue to send me the resources I need to achieve my own grand design. Come with me"

Biggles and Tom were ushered into the next area. This was close to the rocket. Charts and rocket blueprints were seen pinned up on the partition walls. Colorful illustrations of Noah's Ark were displayed throughout the centre. The spectacular pictures showed two of each animal marching in line to board the Ark.

Gregor was wheeled forward, he was recovering his faculties but remained securely strapped down.

Little models of the finished rocket were present along with more Braun screens with lissajous curves of light on them. This section was clearly developing aerodynamics.

Biggles pointed to the rocket. "Is that your grand design?"

"No, merely a test flight model." Said Totenkopf. "The finished product will be massive. It will be as tall as a Manhattan skyscraper. The rocket will be the salvation of all life on Earth."

Biggles cut in. "Which you are now actively trying to destroy."

When Tom saw The scientist's bitter frown at the pilot, he was concerned. Totenkopf would welcome Tom into the laboritories but there was no apparent place for Biggles amidst these works. The pilot's wit and open cynicism was not endearing him to the science mastermind.

Many other scientists assembled within earshot of the conversation. Biggles recognised Dr Kraft and Professor Calculus. These scientists, whether kidnapped or volunteers were clearly made to be engineers on this rocket project.

"I have marked a planet in the vastness of space." Said Totenkopf. "I call it the World of Tomorrow. These scientists will build the rocket that will take my perfected humans there along with two of every animal on Earth. It will be a new beginning. A new Genesis."

Totenkopf picked up the handle of a machine that shone in his face. It was a camera that doubled as a microphone. "Go forth unto this world. Be fruitful and multiply."

The machine was switched off and put down. The doctor then pressed a button which activated a large imager up above. Totenkopf's face as filmed by the camera appeared on the screen and articulated in perfect synchronisation with the played voice the words he preached. "Go forth unto this world. Be fruitful and multiply."

"I have many such recordings." Said Totenkopf.

"You're Mad." Uttered Biggles.

There were gasps from several of the assembled scientists. Tom gave the pilot a vicious nudge. Stalhein shook his head at his adversary. Totenkopf undertook an extended silence before launching into his next explanation with a dose of malice.

"I don't know why but I hate pilots." He ranted. "I am even in the process of developing a plane that does not require a pilot. My final rocket will not need one."

He indicated the finished model standing on the launch pad. "I allowed these engineers to include a space for a pilot in this small prototype. Not because it needed one, because I wanted to demonstrate the folly of putting a flesh and bone human into a place where he will be crushed to death by the G-force. Then the engineers will put their efforts into developing rockets and flying machines that do not require pilots. You are just in time for this test flight, there are no pilot controls, just a seat. The unfortunate test passenger will be a testimonial to the need for intricately programmed automation and incubated travel, both to be incorporated in the Ark.

"This test rocket will not clear the atmosphere. It will burn out and fall back to Earth. The Passenger's body will be recovered, though the G-force will twist it into a dead mess."

Totenkopf cast a hateful gaze towards Biggles. "What better test passenger can there be than a pilot."

Rough hands suddenly seized Biggles and dragged him towards the rocket. Tom yelled out a protest and was about to approach Totenkopf before Stalhein restrained him. Biggles could give little resistance to the strong guards moving him up a metal stairwell.

Totenkopf opened a cabin door on the scaffold. "Strap him in." He commanded.

Gregor gyrated his antennae in fury, he wanted to thrash his limbs about but they were firmly secured. He knew that his friend was being sent to a painful death.

Tom was invited to enter the cabin to say goodbye; Stalhein escorted him in. "Cramped" was the word that came to the American's mind, this cabin was small, reach both your arms out and both sides can be pushed against. There was a glass porthole at seated eye level allowing the passenger a view of the outside. The pilot's hands and feet were strapped to the cushioned seat. A look around the cabin revealed an absence of control mechanisms but a brief examination of certain panels gave Tom an idea.

"Biggles, this rocket can be controlled from within. Behind these panels are magnets that can adjust the angle of the exterior wings. If you can pry open the panels you can adjust the magnets and thus bring this rocket back to Earth before it kills you."

"Thanks Tom." Said Biggles. "But I don't think that's going to help me."

Stalhein said. "He won't be doing anything but not enjoying the ride. Say your goodbye, then leave."

Tom moved up close to the doomed pilot to whisper in his ear. Stalhein seized his wrist and drew the file that was being sneakily handed over to Biggles.

"Right. Out on the double." Commanded Stalhein as he pushed Tom out of the cabin.

Totenkopf gazed inside to see the commotion and saw Stalhein display the tool that was the cause; he grinned and turned to chastise Tom. Stalhein spent a few seconds with his doomed adversary then exited the cabin, shutting the door behind him.

Everyone left the scaffold; the stairs were wheeled away; the scaffold dismantled and removed from the launch pad.

"You may launch now." Said Totenkopf to the engineers.

Stalhein had to keep Tom under restraint as the American youth wanted to shake the doctor's arm in a futile plea for compassion.

A roaring sound came from the rocket as a whoosh of fire erupted from its base. The combustion lifted the rocket off the pad, then a more powerful surge of fire shot the giant dart at great speed up through the volcano's mouth and into the sky. A trail of smoke was left in the rocket's wake which was the only thing visible as the craft was quickly out of sight to all but those monitoring its flight through telescopes.

Gregor made sounds of cursing and protest, through his mouth guard, against what had been done to his friend. Totenkopf shifted his interest to the bound man insect. A keen and close gaze over the helpless organism had Tom, now pacified, approach the doctor, with emotional restraint.

"You can't do what you're thinking." Said Tom. "You have already killed one of my friends."

"Science cannot let friendship get in the way Tom. What we could learn from this should prove very valuable."

"Do you want me to help you?"

"Totenkopf turned to the young American. "Why of course Tom. There is much to do, much to discover."

"Tell you what. I will help you with this new rocket. But you have to swear that Gregor here does not get vivisected."

"I will need your help on that and other things." He stared at Gregor for a few seconds then turned to Tom.

"Very Well. I hereby swear on my honour that this man insect known as Gregor, will not be vivisected or subjected to any scientific cruelty."

Tom smiled. "You just gained another inventor doctor."

Totenkopf lead Tom to the scientists working in the rocket program and introduced him to one with a bushy black beard and an Eastern European accent.

Totenkopf said. "This man will be your guide to understanding rocket science. He has learned much from me as will you from him."

Tom shook the bearded man's hand.

"Tom Swift." Introduced Totenkopf. "Meet Dr Hans Zarkoff."


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

The rocket's launch sent powerful vibrations shuddering through Biggles and the cabin he was in. Work had already begun on severing his right wrist binding but the shaking postponed it.

Stalhein had sneakily tucked Tom's tool into Biggles' sleeve before leaving the rocket. Why did he do it? Perhaps respect for a long time antagonist; gratitude for sparing his life during the parachute drop; or maybe he did not like what Totenkopf was doing. Either way Biggles had a thin hope of survival. The tool was a both a flat screw driver and a blade, probably another of the young inventor's creations.

When the fast ascension happened the pilot felt queasy. Biggles had flown many times but never so directly up or so fast. Only the severing of the first wrist binding kept his mind on the task at hand. He commenced applying his newly freed hand to cutting the other wrist binding despite escalating nausea.

A look out the porthole showed that the rocket had cleared the volcano and was shooting through the clouds into the blue yonder above.

His cheeks began to reach for his chin. The same was happening to his skin everywhere, it was being pushed downward by the G-force. Biggles flesh was being drawn to the floor; he figured if a split was made on his scalp, the entire skin would peel of him on both sides and be pressed to the deck.

After the last wrist binding was cut through; Biggles then untied his ankle restraints before getting of the seat. Standing was impossible: not only was the G-force pushing him down but his legs were weakened by the extreme lifting sensation.

The flat screwdriver was ideal for prying open the wing panel; this was achieved when a familiar sound emanated from a glass screen on the wall. Totenkopf's image appeared on the square glass surface.

"Congratulations young sky pioneer." Said the image that was clearly one of Totenkopf's recordings being played back. "You have the honour of being a martyr for a new age of interplanetary travel. Your discomfort and sacrifice is regrettable, but how appropriate is it that you are being propelled into the heavens? For that is where you truly belong. May your discomfort be short and your honoured memory eternal."

Totenkopf's image gave a salute then fizzled out to a blank screen. Biggles returned a series of expletives to the glass square while groping in the darkness beyond the panel. His fingers soon felt a handle then gripped it; a forced turn clockwise had the rocket slightly veer away from its perfectly vertical course. Biggles realised he had just altered the wing position. Realising now what he had to do, Biggles turned to the other wing panel. He had to drag himself across the cabin floor which was blessedly narrow.

The flat screw driver opened up the other panel and Biggles groped for the magnetic handle. This was more difficult as his vision was blurring and his head began to ache. The pilot realised that the G-force was pushing the blood down from his head towards the lower parts of his body. He had to work fast.

When the magnetic handle was located and gripped, Biggles reached out his other hand for the first one; it was found and seized despite blurred vision. He turned each magnet a particular way in accordance with his pilot's knowledge of aerodynamics and felt the rocket's course become diagonal rather than vertical.

Blood dripped from his nostrils, forced down by the G-force. Biggles wanted to tend to it but his hands were needed where they were. An extra turn was exacted on the magnetic handles so the wings adjusted and a horizontal trajectory was achieved. The G-force had turned into a fierce inertia that he, a pilot, was half used to but it had already taken its toll on him. There was no mirror, but he knew his eyes were bloodshot with red drops forced out of his tear ducts and a continual thumping in his ears. Pressure within him felt strong, with the feeling that his insides were being stretched to breaking point.

Biggles wanted to get back to Earth. Without a thought he turned the magnets again and affected a downward diagonal course. He was going home. That sounded good until he realised the rocket's impact will most certainly kill him. The magnets were turned again; the giant metal dart was going straight down. Biggles wondered if he knew what he was doing, this course would definitely be the end of him.

There was a faint hope that the ill effects of the G-force on the way up would be reversed on the way down. What he felt was a new debilitating sense of weightlessness and fresh nausea. Biggles gave a panicked turn of the two magnets then let one go, so he could observe his results through the porthole. He had clearly turned the wings to much; this was forty-five degrees short of being horizontal; the rocket was approaching the sea.

Bottom of the ocean was not the place he wanted to end up; Biggles reached out for the far magnet but found he was too debilitated for such action. The fast travel had taken its toll on him. Biggles gave a slight turn to the one magnet he could reach. The one wing turn brought a swifter descent. Biggles vision was narrowed like looking through a murky spyglass he could no longer see the results of his manipulations. He turned the magnet back without being able to judge the angle. Tunnel visioned and disorientated all he could make out through the porthole was that the sea looked very close.

All he could do now was brace for impact; he gripped a seat leg and lied down flat on the floor. A thunderous jolt roared through the cabin, followed by another. Biggles realised that the rocket was skipping along the ocean surface like a horizontally hurled flat shell. The thruster tubes had shut down with the first impact, this vessel was traveling on momentum alone.

Two more thunderous skips occurred, each giving the pilot a new bruise, then the the rocket hit something harder. Biggles was thrown against the wall underneath the glass screen which shattered into hundreds of tiny shards raining down on him. The rocket screeched to a halt as it dug into hard ground.

Biggles could not move; control of his faculties had been brought to virtually nil. He could see through the cracked porthole that the rocket had hit a rock formation and had come to rest on a beach. The fuselage had been torn by the impact and water was seeping in, it would soon enter the cabin and drown him. He could not move or yell for help, his consciousness faded quickly.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Captain Mors had to sustain his constant machete swings to hack his way through the thick jungle undergrowth; he wasn't fussed, he had to do the same on several of the planets he visited. What he did find odd is that Tarzan seemed to require no such effort, he traversed the rain forest like it was his home street; he sometimes employed dangling vines to swing from one point to another.

The ape man was an excellent guide though, he pointed out a direction that allowed Mors to exit the jungle promptly. A rocky area with a large chasm was before them and a swamp to their left.

"We must cross chasm." Said Tarzan. "Volcano on other side."

"Is there a bridge?" Asked Mors.

"There bridge." Tarzan pointed at a felled tree that lay over the chasm's width.

"That's hardly the Weidendammer."

The natural tree bridge was thick, stable and easy to get to. Mors was relieved; he did not want to go into the swamp to seek out a proper bridge. Crossing the felled giant was simple, Mors avoided looking down, even though height was a way of life for him. Tarzan stopped to note markings on the barked surface.

"Sabre toothed tiger use this bridge to. We may see him again."

"I would like to kill that monster." Said Mors.

"Tiger away somewhere, eating his meal."

Mors frowned, then lowered his domino mask. What the ape man said just reduced his valued crewman to a tiger's dinner.

When Tarzan stepped of the bridge he began to look around nervously.

"What's the matter." Inquired Mors. "Is the tiger nearby?"

"Not tiger. Something else, this place is tribal territory."

"You mean natives?"

"No, apes."

A loud thunderous noise emanated from within the volcano, like it was erupting, but the ground did not shake. The two League members watched the volcano's mouth half expecting a pyroclastic issue. What they saw was a giant metal dart shoot out of the opening and into the sky leaving a trail of fumes in its wake. A lot of smoke then began to rise out of the now silent mountain.

"What was that?" Asked a bemused Tarzan.

"It was a rocket." Answered Mors. "Totenkopf must be developing rocket science. What we just saw must be a test flight of an early model. That smoke coming out of the mouth is the initial exhaust fumes from the launch."

"Why he build these things?"

"He probably wants to travel to other planets."

It wasn't long before they saw the rocket again, but this time going down. The trail of smoke was clearly visible whereas the rocket itself was hard to make out. It looked like it was going to shoot into the ocean when it changed course to slightly downward trajectory that was nearly horizontal and heading back towards the island. A series of splashes on the ocean surface brought a cessation of the thrusting sound to make way for a crashing noise telling the onlookers that the giant metal dart had ended its flight on the rocky coast at the undeveloped side of this island.

"Totenkopf needs to get back to the drawing board." Said Mors.

The luftpirate activated his back pack radio to contact his airship.

"Captain Brieux, did you notice the rocket?"

"We did Captain. It has crashed on the rocks near us."

"Can you investigate it?"

"Not without revealing our presence."

"Stay hidden. When Lindo and the crewmen return, send him with the boat to have a look."

"OK Captain. Is that all."

"That's all for now. Over and out."

Mors repacked his radio and bid Tarzan to proceed towards the mountain.

Rocks and trees were the terrain here. Mors noted that Tarzan was ever vigilant, he focused on all corners, peaks and trees for some unseen enemy.

Captain Mors was relatively nonchalant until a hand grabbed him by the collar and threw him back. A large rock flew past the space he had just occupied a second ago. Tarzan had just saved him from bad injury. A fierce growl came from the ape that was the source of this peril.

The simian was squatted but would be seven feet tall if it stood upright. It had purple grey hair, an exceptionally high forehead for an ape and a set of mean looking teeth which matched its demeanor.

Tarzan tried a few grunts and growls of the Mangani language. The beast showed no recognition of the ape tongue, it snarled then charged. Tarzan fired an arrow into its torso but the simian horror continued its assault. Lord Greystoke dropped his bow and seized the ape's threatening arm, then jumped aside a millisecond before the simian jaws closed on the space his neck was. Keeping his hold on the hairy arm, he swung the big ape into the trunk of a tree. The stunning effect was so short-lived, it was virtually no time at all. A greater ferocity came over the beast, it was going to charge again when a shot from Mors pistol entered its chest and knocked it to the ground. It was not dead but neither did the bull ape get up.

"I must have hit a crucial nerve." Said Mors. "It cannot move."

Tarzan approached the fallen ape and tried again to communicate with it. After several grunts and growls the paralysed simian made one utterance. Tarzan took out his knife and with one curt slash, cut the ape's throat.

"What did he utter, an insult?" Asked Mors.

"Zinj." Whispered Tarzan. "He was from Zinj."

"I have not heard of Zinj."

"All apes are warned by their parents and chiefs. 'Never ever go to Zinj'. Both Mangani, Bolgani and any other tribe of ape hear a carried down warning. 'Never go to Zinj'".

"You mean this Zinj is here." Asked Mors.

"Not here." Explained Tarzan. "In Congo. It Is a lost city in Congo. But apes who guard it are here."

Mors surmised. "Totenkopf must have found Zinj, he brought a guardian ape here to defend his island."

"Not just one, many." Said Tarzan while examining the body. "This ape has pick marks, claw scratches and teeth marks. He not alone."

A quick visual scan of the immediate area revealed to Mors that they were not about to get ambushed by this ape's brothers.

"Something else to see." Added Tarzan. "Look at eyes, teeth, claws and pecs. What do they remind you of?"

Mors examined the said parts. "The homunculi."

"This Totenkopf make homunculi from apes." Stated Tarzan.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

When Tom Swift observed, through a telescope, the rockets failed flight that ended up back on the island, he could not hide his glee. Biggles may still be alive. Hans Zarkoff placed his hand on Tom's shoulder and gestured that he must stifle his attitude before Totenkopf notices and adopt a counterfeit demeanor of disappointment, coupled with a will to make sure the next test rocket will be a sucess.

The young inventor soon managed this, bar a few laughs he tried to pass off as coughs. A glass of water later, he gave Totenkopf his full attention.

All present rocket scientists listened as the driven genius, unfazed by the prototype's failure, illustrated on a blackboard his improved design for the next rocket, which included multi-staging. The presentation was awe-inspiring for the audience who had already absorbed much of their host's knowledge. Totenkopf finished up with a pep talk that was delivered like it was the St Crispin's Day speech reinterpreted for scientific achievement the audience must strive for. Tom swift began to appreciate the new science of rockets.

When the presentation was over, Totenkopf returned to his office. Hans Zarkoff introduced Tom to the other scientists. First there was Doctor Kraft from Denmark; then Mstislav Los from Russia; Proffessor Kokintz from, of all places, the Duchy of Grand Fenwick; and finally the French-speaking Professor Calculus.

This last introduction went oddly; the bespectacled, curly haired scientist knew English, or did he?

When Tom said. "Pleased to meet you."

The reply was . "Defeat me? How are you going to defeat me boy?"

Hans Zarkoff cut in and muttered a correction in Calculus' ear.

"Excuse him." Zarkoff said to Tom. "He has a hearing problem."

Calculus returned to his desk to review the newly issued blueprints; the others did likewise. Hans Zarkoff explained to Tom the engineering process by which they constructed the previous rocket and how the next, he will help build, shall achieve much more.

An aged man with a telescope reported to Zarkoff.

"That rocket you launched has ended up on the rocky coast of this island. A team has been dispatched to retrieve it. Couldn't your next rocket reach the Moon?"

"That won't happen for a while." Replied Zarkoff

"Blast."

Zarkoff introduced. "Tom. Meet our resident astronomer. Professor Georg Mannfelt."

Tom shook the German's hand while remembering his claims published in science magazines. "Oh Yeah. Your the man who." He stopped.

Mannfelt cast a scrutinising stare at Tom, then seized him by the arms and shook him.

"It's true. It's true." He yelled. "There is gold on the Moon. There is."

Zarkoff broke Mannfelt's hold on Tom, then told him to get back to his large telescope and calculate the co-ordinates for the World of Tomorrow as Totenkopf requests.

Tom was more amused than shaken up by the treatment. He returned to the rocket designs and spent much time absorbing the science.

The young American announced to Zarkoff. "Maybe not here, but one day I will design and build my own rocket ship."

Zarkoff grinned. "All of us have made the same resolve Tom."


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

The many ladders and catwalks were good facilities for someone descending the volcano's interior walls, but not Irma Vep. The dark clad woman could not let herself be seen, her time on those metal thoroughfares was minimal and dangerous. Maintenance workers were spread out in the interior, it only took one to spot her and raise the alarm.

It was in the ventilation shafts that she felt safer while traversing the depths of this industrialized mountain. They were wide enough for her to crawl through and narrow enough for her to climb down while pressing each hand and foot on either side of the vertical steel tunnel.

She had seen half the League netted and captured, thus leaving the remainder to walk here. Irma was for the time being on her own, but she felt in her element. These shafts had no lighting so Irma unpacked a tungsten filament lamp from her back pack turned it on and dangled it from her belt.

The time came when a fixed grill barred any further progress down, her burglars' tools could not move it; only the panel to the catwalk. Irma carefully poked her head out to view the open area of the interior mountain wall. All maintenance men she noticed before were all absent; an alarm was blaring and red lights flashing. It couldn't be because of her; no-one could've seen her in the shafts, they would be converging on this point if they had. There was no one on any catwalk or ladder.

A look down to the volcano floor revealed that she was two thirds of the way down and a crowd of people were focused on that giant metal dart in the centre. It was what Mors called a rocket, and she realised it was about to launch, all maintenance workers had made themselves scarce because the fiery exhaust would heat up all the metal frameworks of the interior walls.

Irma considered going back to the ventalation shaft for cover but realised that some of the initial launch heat would be channeled through it and all other shafts, she would get cooked. She looked around frantically for shelter. A door opened up on the other side of the crater, slightly above her level, a worker stepped out for a quick peek at the rocket then ducked back inside, closing the door after him.

There was no time to go around and reach that door but continued observation revealed the same thing happen on a similar door this side on the level above her. Irma switched of her lamp, packed it away, re donned her back pack then employed her cat like movements to slink along the catwalk, keeping herself in the dark spots as much as possible. When she got to the ladder she climbed up the rungs on the wall side. When she reached the level above, a brisk acrobatic move shifted her around the ladder and on to the catwalk within a second.

A quick look down showed the crowd moving back from the rocket, giving it a wide berth. The launch was only seconds away.

Irma got to the door then gave a desperate knock. The maintenance man opened up with a perplexed look, wondering what anyone would be doing on the catwalk this close to the launch. Irma forced her way in then closed the door behind her. The man yelled out an interrogatory protest then backed off to reach for what Irma reckoned could be either a weapon or an alarm.

Her wrist knife was out in an instant; a few steps and a stab at the turning man brought the blade neatly through his ribs. He gasped then dropped the monkey wrench he was about to strike with, then slumped to the floor, dead.

This room was a combined bedsit and tool shed. He was the only occupant.

A thunderous roar reverberated through the metal walls. Irma had to block her ears as it got louder. The rocket had launched and was obviously ascending as the thunder got louder and the walls hotter.

An extra burst of thunder brought an end to the ordeal as the rocket shot into the sky; the roaring noise fading very fast. Irma removed her hand from her ears and approached the door. Heat struck her as she got within a few feet of the exit. The metalwork outside: the catwalks, ladders and doors would be burning hot after the rockets fiery exhaust.

Irma would clearly have to wait for the outside to cool off; her only company, a dead body. She wondered how Biggles, Tom and Gregor had fared, their capture was not so long before this launch. Somehow Irma felt it was not a coincidence.

When the heat subsided Irma carefully opened the door. Residual heat and lingering smoke pervaded the volcano interior. The former was tolerable, the latter convenient, it allowed her to remain unseen. A touch on the catwalk parapet revealed the metal was only warm. Irma quickly used the walks and ladders to return to her ventilation access, then realised she would have to go down another level via the ladders as the grill would still bar her progress downwards.

Irma got to the new louvre then began to work on the fastenings with a spanner she took from the bedsit. A brief look down was blurred by the smoke; that was good; it means whoever's down below could not see her. She opened the vent and climbed into the shaft. The obstucting grill was above her now; down below looked free from any further impediments. Irma closed the louvre behind her then continued her climb towards the ground; that being the volcano bed.

After considerable time and effort, Irma found her way to a horizontal shaft, several lights down the narrow tunnel had to be louvre shutters. She climbed in; it would be a welcome change from climbing down to crawling along on her hands and knees. This she could do with little or no noise. The first vent was to an empty whitewashed room. She considered leaving the shaft, because she could do so here without being discovered, but the cat burglar prefered the hidden travel option the dark metal tunnel provided.

The next vent was to a similar room but this one had scientific apparatus and shelves holding glass jars with preserved animal embryos in them. So this was a science lab. Irma could hear activity beyond the next vent. She quietly let her limbs propel her along the shaft to observe through the louvre slats. It was also a science lab, but this one was prepared for action. The tools laid out were scalpels, forceps, retractors, magnifying glasses and clamps. There was virtually nothing in the way of dressing or hypodermic needles. These were the instrumentation of vivisection, which was exactly what was being discussed in French by the two lab coated doctors.

Irma recognised one the moment she saw his face, it was Dr Totenkopf, the very man The League was assigned to track down. He was a German speaking French for the sake of his colleague who was clearly French. What was odd about this colleague was that his cranium was shaped outrageously, it was like a bald hill rising high above his hairline. A look at his face produced another shock, his eyes had all the appearance of madness. Recognition came again, this cranialy warped scientist was Dr Tube, who was infamous for creating a mind bending powder. He tested this abominable compound on himself and all his friends before being committed to an lunatic asylum. Totenkopf must have spirited him away to join his team of those who produce monstrosities.

A knock on the lab door was answered with a bid to enter. That which came in was a wheeled gurney pushed by two lab coated doctors. Irma recognised the figure strapped down on the mobile table, the subject of the planned vivisection; it was Gregor Samsa. The insect man was clearly weakened by whatever means but still had some fight in him; he threshed about but his bindings were secure, even the one covering his mouth. He was on his back with his exposed abdomen ready for the vivisectionists.

Dr Tube turned to Totenkopf. "Didn't you promise the boy not to do this?"

Totenkopf answered. "A promise made to a kid who does not yet realise the majesty of what we do should be ignored. Science must have no barriers.'

"Yes. you're right."

Totenkopf handed Tube the case file. "You will proceed with the operation at once. Report to me when your'e finished."

Irma realised what she can do to help Gregor; she reached into her backpack and got a gas mask then put it on, next came the cylinder with a nozzle which she turned. It was a pity Totenkopf left the room she would've liked to have treated him to the vile product of another mad scientist.

Dr Tube told the other two doctors to don their rubber gloves and aprons but not to put on their face masks.

The sight of this giant insect was bizarre for Dr Tube. It was freaky and twisted. An extensive look at the misshapen subject on the table brought a sense of revulsion. A bizarre rationale came over the cranialy endowed scientist: if we're going to undertake an exercise on this warped being, then we do it while our minds are also warped.

Tube's new clown smile and widened eyes brought great concern to the two other doctors. Before they could inquire Tube threw a white lump to the ground at their feet. An explosion of powder saturated their senses. Another such explosion enveloped Dr Tube himself.

With his mind newly bent by his notorious powder, Dr Tube envisioned the two doctors heads inflate to to a huge size while their lower torsos and legs shrunk to miniscule dimensions. As for the insect, his abdomen seemed to expand to to the size of a hill while the table he was on looked way to small to hold such a monstrosity.

The surgical instruments also appeared affected, the scalpel was gigantic while the forceps were tiny. Tube moved to pick up the scalpel, his hand apparently grown in size to handle the giant blade. He moved on the bizarre insect.

The other two doctors had trouble orientating themselves, the mind bending powder must have given their fresh minds a shock. Tube was about to guide them but a panic seemed to overcome them, they rushed to the door. Their difficulty in making out the exit was near comical, they even fell over one another. Finally, they focused on the doorknob, putting all four of their combined hands on it. The powder effects must have made it look big; together they turned it and opened the door. They both got on their hands and knees then crawled out of the room; the door must have appeared small.

Tube raised his hand to find a hissing snake in his grasp where the scalpel was; he dropped the serpent only to hear the tinkle of metal on the ground. Gregor's limbs seemed to be free of their bindings, they were lashing out at him. Tube felt very frightened, he wanted to keep that freaky being away from him. He turned to a white wall for some exit and his warped visions seemed to make out a white corridor to run down. He propelled himself to the passage but slammed into a wall.

They were there, in the corridor he couldn't run down, the white shirted orderlies with a straight jacket, they were coming for him. Tube stumbled back to the operating table but saw the insect's apparently enlarged abdomen burst open and a swarm of locusts rush out towards him. Tube screamed as he felt sure they were going to eat him to the bone.

He closed his eyes and opened them later to a room without locusts. Was he a ghost? Whatever shadows there were in the room, they became darker and more threatening, they were moving, reaching out for him. Tube pressed his back to the wall.

One shadow in particular dropped from high up on the wall and ambulated towards him; it was as dark as any shadow with, what his bent vision made out to be, a giant top half and a small lower half. Tube tried to make out facial features on the approaching figure but where the face should be there was only darkness. For an instant he made out human eyes, but no; once again there was only darkness.

A swift lateral movement from the shadow and Dr Tube felt a sharp pain across his throat. He tried to tend to the pain but his hand felt warm gushing blood. His warped vision faded as did his life.

Irma Vep wiped her blade clean then approached the helpless and now frightened Gregor. She had turned off the fear gas, but the insect man was clearly affected. Before she released him, the gurney was wheeled out of the room. The bindings were severed and Gregor Samsa jumped off the table. This was open area and he knew the way to the volcano's mouth.

Gregor Samsa opened his elytra, spread his wings and flew into wide open volcano centre then upwards to the mouth. All people who were in the centre noticed his flight, some guards even fired their rifles at him, but Gregor stopped for nothing, his fear drove him out into the fresh air and open sky above.

Irma Vep knew Gregor was too afraid to stop and say thank you. What was important is that he got out of here.

Several guards noticed her standing outside the room. Irma fled back into the room and disappeared into the ventilation shaft.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36**

A large eucalyptus tree towered above Tarzan and Captain Mors. There were several on this island but this one sustained their attention due to the many minute figures they saw around it. This tree appears to have been specially planted in a garden whose fence had long fallen into fragments. There was an enclosed greenhouse neaby that seemed part of a larger complex, but it was the eucalyptus that held the two investigaters' curiosity.

Gum nuts were strewn over the ground but these were empty; it was the ones on the branches that had moving pink organisms in them. Mors placed a magnifying glass over a low hanging nut. The figure sleeping inside was humanoid as was the many little figures dancing and playing in the garden. Through the magnifying glass Mors and Tarzan could make out minute humanoid figures jumping from one blade of grass to another like pixies; others were nestling in flower buds; some used large leaves as slides while other climbed up and down the tree.

There was a childlike nature to all of them, even in the larger ones that showed up. The magnifying glass was not required to observe them; they were roughly the size of a pinky finger, and they wore gum nut caps on their heads. A shrill whistle from them, that Mors and Tarzan could just barely hear, summoned a little horse to enter the garden. It was an brown eohippus and it stopped right next to the minute figures. Ten of the little humanoids leaped on to the equine back and seized a handful of fur. At a signal, the little horse galloped off into the wilderness with its many exuberant riders.

Tarzan and Mors moved to the greehouse, having sated their curiosity over the gumnut babies. The entrance was not locked, it just had a complicated opening mechanism that Mors figured out easily.

"Why do you think they did this?" Asked Mors.

"To keep Zinj apes out." Answered Tarzan as he closed the door behind him.

Several garden beds were inside, all had the same type of sprout. Mors grabbed one and yanked it out of the soil. The large root dangling from the sprout had vague human features but was inanimate.

"Mandrake roots" Said Mors as he pressed the plant back into the dirt.

A creak at the far door had both League members rushing the entering presence. Tarzan seized the man while Mors kept the door open. The fear struck man was a tall tubby man in a lab coat; Mors quietened him down as he ushered him back into the complex. Amidst a very putrid smell was the sight of unwashed bathtub shaped vats with stagnant goo in them; eight foot tall glass booths containing decomposing human sized figures and bloodied tables where dissections had clearly been done.

"You're Captain Mors." Said the lab coated man in German. "The Luftpirate."

"Yes and I would like an explanation."

"Well then; I am glad your with us. My name is Professor Jakob ten Brinken."

Mors had heard the name, he was a geneticist who, during the prewar years, conducted biological experiments involving criminals and prostitutes. The end results did not go well for him. Right now he was eyeing Lord Greystoke up and down.

"Who do we have here?" He asked.

"This is Tarzan of the Apes." Answered Mors.

"Well well." Said Jakob. "He is a fine specimen. A man of nurtured primordial savagery and brilliant musculature."

Tarzan did not understand the German language, he was incensed from hearing it and this German professor was ogling him like a prize fur. When a curious hand reached out to touch him, the primordial aggression could no longer be supressed; Tarzan's hand gripped Jakob's throat and would've crushed the life out of him had not Mors bid the ape man to let him go.

Professor Brinken recovered his breathing seconds after his throat was released.

"Wow." He coughed out. "Such strength, such savagery. I could do wonders with him."

"We will talk about that later." Said Mors. "Now I want you to explain what this laboratory is for."

"This facility is where we tried to create life. There have been several unsuccessful attempts to play God here. Totenkopf is obsessed with with creating perfect human beings. No experiment done here came close to achieving that.

"See those tubs with the smelly liquid in them?"

Mors indicated the positive while translating the words into English for Tarzan.

"They are biological culture vats. The proteins mixed were supposed to come together and form a living person. That was a failure.

"Those cylinders contained recently deceased but intact people. They were immersed in conductive fluid and then charged with electrical current to jump start their lives again. Another failure.

"We even tried stitching subjects back together on those tables. You can guess how that went."

"And the eucalyptus tree?" Asked Mors.

"Aah. You have seen the gumnut babies?" Jakob said rhetorically. "They were a success. We created life but those homunculi were useless to us. We shipped a tree over to Fremantle Australia. It was planted in the outback, so now the Australian bush will be infested with gumnut babies. We kept the tree outside as a reminder of our achievments."

"Why the mandrake garden?" Asked Mors.

"My early scientific work involved mandrakes. I only grow them as a hobby now. Totenkopf has found less and less use for my style of work. His achievements have gone way beyond my abilities. I am now just a caretaker for this disused laboratory."

"Did not you create life Professor?" Mors inquired. "Did you not create the woman, Alraune?"

A deep depression seemed to come over Jakob. "Oh. Alraune. She left."

"You mentioned Homunculi professor. Where are the big ones?" Asked Mors.

Jakob ten Brinken took a while to come out of his gloom. "The other scientists made those. The homunculi plantation is just outside this window."

He opened a set of shutters and revealed a panoramic sight that reminded Mors of the Hell depictions in Dante's Inferno. Tarzan winced at the spectacle of a red and pink field. Red like the color of blood and pink like swollen flesh. A little white was there, the color of denuded bone.

It was a field honeycombed with rectangular pits much like graves. There were no tombstones, just markers. All one hundred pits had organic matter heaving and pulsating, some even expanding above the rim. Each pit had what appeared to be an artery connected to it, feeding nutrients to the organism inside.

Men in red coveralls and red helmets patrolled the field ready for action. They could pass for demons.

A rupture at one of the pits was doubled with the roar of a homunculus; it had torn through its womb membrane to feel its first touch of fresh air and sun warmth. This was one of the abominations that terrorised the Western Front. The men in red were clearly wranglers, they approached the newborn horror that was dripping wet with its own placenta. They seized him and pulled him out of the pit, he had already torn free of his umbilical cords. He gave the wranglers little trouble, Jakob informed the onlookers that sedatives were included in the homunculis' nutrition leading up to birth.

The homunculi were lead into a tunnel after birth were they would be conditioned for service on the battlefield.

Mors and Tarzan watched several more such births: one required the wranglers to tear the monster away from his umbilical cord; another was born too small, the wranglers put him down with a syringe; two tore free of their wombs at the same time, the wranglers easily managed one each.

Pit quality was also monitored by the men in red; they could recommend added or reduced nutrients for a particular subject.

The last birth the League members witnessed showed them that it doesn't always go smoothly. When a wrangler approached a particularly loud newborn, it was clear that the sedatives didn't take. The homunculus jumped from his pit and pounced on the man; giving a savage roar as he ripped the flesh from his torso and bit away the organs from his throat before being shot several times by a stationed rifleman.

Mors closed the shutters.


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37**

Cuthbert Calculus dangled the little pendulum over his work site and waited to feel the directional nudgings. Tom Swift observed this attempt at dowsing and wondered what the professor was trying to find: a water source; a geothermal pit; seismic activity or a molten lava pool underneath the volcano bed.

The pendulum went to a pile of carelessly stacked papers.

"Aha." Yelled Calculus as he grabbed a loose document. "I found it."

"What is that Professor?" Asked Tom.

"A request form my boy. We are going to do a G-force simulation and see its effects on a human. A homunculus will be the unfortunate test subject. With this document we will formally request one from the homunculi conditioning centre.

Calculus noticed Tom's dismay upon hearing this. "I am sorry about your pilot friend. Totenkopf was out of line there. We co-operate with him because some of his genius will hopefully rub off onto us. His insanity we hope will go with him when he leaves this world."

"Are you taking it?" Asked Tom referring to the request form.

"Am I faking it?" Blared Calculus. "What do you mean lad?"

There was that bad hearing. Tom managed to settle down the outraged scientist then offered to deliver the form.

"That's good Tom. Meetings between me and that creepy Professor Hans Vergerus always go badly."

"That's probably because of your hearing."

"Because of my fearing?" Calculus frowned. "He may be a scary fellow but I practice the fine art of Savate."

The dotty professor got up and demonstrated some self defense moves by punching and kicking the air.

Calculus handed Tom a pass. "Now off with you, impudent lad."

Tom began his errand. "I would hate to be the young hero who relies on this guy's scientific expertise." He said to himself.

His trip took him through the factories: one was building tanks; another experimental planes with no cockpit; then he saw mechanical men being built.

Tom noticed that these industrial establishments had only a few workers; a small fraction of what he would find in normal factories this size. Mechanical men were seen performing industrial tasks: joining, fitting, welding and riveting. A lot of these jobs were completed sucessfully with little supervision from human foreman and no scrutiny from machinists.

"People are being taken out of the equation here." Tom whispered to himself. His observation of the industrial processes, coupled with the thought of planes being built without the need for pilots, had brought on this gloomy theory. Tom looked upon the industrial complex as a huge dutiful automaton doing the large scale bidding of a central intelligence; that being Totenkopf or whatever succeeds him.

Imperial Navy guards barred the door to the conditioning centre. Tom showed his pass but they were reluctant to let him in. Since the young American was just an errand boy, they pitched the idea of him waiting outside while they deliver the request form.

"It's Alright." Said an American lab coated man arriving on the scene. "He can come in with me."

The guards stood aside. "Yes Professor Maxon, he's your responsibility while in there."

As the doors opened, Tom remembered reading about Maxon. He was a scientist who created a dozen homunculi in biological culture vats, taught them to speak, then lost control of them. The freaky creations went into the Borneo jungle on a killing spree. They were called the Monster Men.

"You're an American, Professor. Why are you here, helping the Bosch." Asked Tom.

"Same reason you're here, brought here against my will and then seduced by the the dazzling science that is being developed here." Answered Maxon.

Once inside Tom saw experimental culture vats with grotesque organisms forming inside the foul fluid. skinless arms and legs sometimes reached out of the dense pools but could only feel the need to re-submerge. Tom even saw a nearly completed face surface and then quickly duck down again.

"That's one of them professor." Said Tom. "One of the horrors that have been unleashed on the Western Front."

"These are all experimental." Replied Maxon. "An attempt to improve the quality. The monsters that have been shipped out are cultivated en-mass in the fields outside."

"Do you know Professor, that those monsters, you help make, were recently unleashed against American soldiers; your own countrymen. Many a doughboy met a gruesome end at the claws of those monstrosities."

"It is regrettable that my efforts have been put to such horrible use, but here is where an ignored science finds its advancement. The Great War has provided the need; the ample resources the Kaiser has invested will allow it to thrive."

"All I see you doing is repeating your former atrocity."

Maxon fixed a baleful stare on the young scrutineer.

"Yeah." Said Tom. "I heard about that little experiment in the East Indies. Only this time it seems your doing it on an epic scale."

"Come with me Tom." Maxon seized Tom's arm and led him round a corner and pointed out a transparent laboratory.

Two lab coated scientists were inside. Tom recognised Jorge Vargas. Both were pointing out anatomical charts and writing down intricate mathematical equations which included chemical symbols. Large jars of fluid with fetal humanoids immersed inside were placed neatly on the many shelves.

Maxon pointed out the unnamed scientist. "That is Dr Rossum. It is he who will employ this science and create something fantastic. As soon as he finds a proper protoplasm he will create a workforce of passive bio-engineered humanoids to do all the labour in the world, so that we people don't have to.

"Imagine it Tom. A serene and relaxed civilisation without all the industrial discontent. Our work here may be disgraceful, but it brings mankind closer to that paradise lifestyle where the scientific development that produced it will be blessed and this shameful stage of that development will be ignored, if not forgotten."

Tom had heard this justification before from military industrialists, war profiteers and other driven scientists. He also knew the futility of arguing with them or at least he had not found the right words to persuade them otherwise.

"Can you take me to Hans Vergerus?" Asked Tom.

Maxon lead the young scrutineer into a what looked like a large whitewashed gymnasium. There was no exercise equipment, just row upon row of wired helmets that were placed on the heads of the many standing homunculi. Also they had a wired manacle on their right wrist. Several of the bio-engineered fiends noticed Tom approaching and seemed about to charge when a shock passed through their heads and wrists. The fierce growls were not of savage hostility but of induced pain. Similar shocks were received by those homunculi who showed hostility towards wranglers, Navy staff or those in German soldiers uniform who were dutifully walking among the wired monstrosities.

Tom could see that all homunculi were being conditioned to not attack members of the German military. Tom stood still so he could observe more conditioning. The wired helmets and manacles could also channel sensations of pleasure as well as pain. A man with a whistle was blowing his instrument whose sound Tom could not hear, but the homunculi clearly could, as they always responded. Those responses were being programmed into them by the messages of pain and pleasure.

Maxon pointed out Hans Vergerus, the behavioral scientist who masterminded this conditioning process. He was directing the whistle-blower on what messages to repeat and refine.

Two motion picture cameras were operting, one each on the gymnasium corners, both were automatic and did not require a hand crank or even a cameraman. They were filming the whole conditioning process.

These cameras seemed better than the ones Tom had seen in Hollywoodland. Ever so curious, the young scientist examined the device, turning it around so the lens pointed towards Hans Vergerus.

Suddenly there was an outcry. "Nooooo." Yelled the behavioral scientist as he rushed the tilted camera and pushed the lens away from his direction. Tom was knocked aside by this interruption but regained his feet when his hands stumbled on a mirror that was there for scene lighting purposes.

"What do you think you're doing?." Hans blared in English. Maxon must have indicated that Tom was American.

"Having a look at the camera." Answered Tom.

"You tilted the camera at me." Spat Hans. "One thing I cannot stand is seeing myself on the screen."

"Sorry." Said Tom.

"Why are you here American?"

"A request form from Professor Calculus."

Tom moved to present the document but it was in the same hand as the mirror. He accidentally cast the reflective square in Hans' face. Sheer horror overcame the behavioral scientist. His face became cadaverous and contorted with fear, he knocked the mirror out of Tom's hand, sending it to a shattering fall on the floor. This guy clearly could not stand the sight of his own reflection. Hans Vergerus remained staring at Tom, his face apparently locked in a state of morbid shock.

Maxon took the request form from Tom's hand and placed it in Hans' lab coat pocket.

"You better leave." Said Maxon to Tom as he lead the boy out fast.

Tom did notice one more thing on his way out. More homunculi were being herded onto a large gangplank. A look at the upper windows revealed the Super Zeppelin docked outside. More of those foul horrors were soon to be unleashed on the Western Front.


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

The narrow metal tunnel was dark, cold and never ending. Many junctions along the way told Irma that it was a virtual honeycomb of ventilation shafts she could spend days trying to crawl through. She would find herself in such predicaments in Paris, while being a cat burglar, but in those cases a treasure of household jewelery or other booty would be at the end of the ordeal; not here though. If she was lucky she could find Totenkopf in one of the rooms she passed, then end his career and stop the morbid war production.

Neither Biggles nor Tom caught her sight. The rooms she passed were usually science labs with no-one she recognised working in them or on the slab. She had no wish to enter these rooms and risk capture until one such lab tweaked her interest if not her disgust.

Two lab coated doctors were carrying out separate cranial dissections. One was on a large slab with a horse lying on it, the other, a normal sized slab, had a human woman on it.

Anger swelled in Irma Vep. It was bad enough doing this inhumane activity to a horse, but a woman. These bastards had reduced a woman to a lab rat. Both subjects were still breathing, but they had been anethetised. The experiment was clearly observing brain activity.

Irma donned her gas mask then turned the nozzle on Jonathon Crane's cylinder. As the gas hissed into the room, she noticed the two dissectors become uneasy; each looked around for some cause for this feeling. One after the other they backed away from the slabs as if the dissected subjects had woken from their anethtesia to wreak revenge on the scientists.

Each frightened doctor pressed their back to the wall and collapsed into a ball of debilitating fear. Irma removed the louvre then entered the lab. The shivering scientists had their arms wrapped about their heads. They did not see her but, no doubt, heard her approaching and thought the still figures on the slabs had come to punish them.

Irma brought out her knife and cut the throat of each vivisectionist in quick succession, then turned off the gas cylinder. She wiped her knife clean on a portion of one white coat that was, not as yet, stained with blood.

A quick examination of the horse revealed that it had never had a bit or a bridle; its back had no saddle marks nor did its hind have any spur or crop marks. Neither of the four hooves had ever been shod. This horse could not have been wild, its coat was too well brushed.

The woman on the next slab was quite ugly. She had been washed before surgery but that did not hide a diffusion of unsightly body hair and claw marks all over her body, each seemed to be done by others of her kind. Her own fingers were tipped with filthy dark nails as were her toes. The teeth were a shocker; what was left of them were rotten and jagged, this woman had clearly spent her life chewing meat held in her hands.

A case file was placed next to each subject. Irma opened the folder to find some notes were written in French as well as German, some by Dr Tube. The woman was referred to as a Yahoo, a savage human race living on an island near the Great Australian Bight.

The horse was called a Houyhnhnm {pronounced hwinem}. A cultured and civilised equine race living on the same island as the Yahoos.

Irma decided not to ponder a place where horses are smart and humans dumb, nor did she want either subject waking up in pain from the dissection. She drew her knife and made a deep stab into each surgical cavity, thus ending the life of both Houyhnhnm and Yahoo.

She would have left the room then via the ventilation shaft, but a pile of similar case files were seen on a desk. Irma crept to the desk wondering what other evil had been done in this butchers' block.

The top file has sufficient French notes to make out the case. A German, Harry Haller has had his mind fused with the essence and mentality of a Central Asian wolf of the steppes. This experiment, if successful, can be done in thousands and allow the Kaiser's soldiers to navigate and survive the far frontiers when it comes time to expand his conquest around the world.

When she closed the file, Irma saw a wolf skull sitting on the lab shelf along with fetal jars and stuffed rodents.

Her profession taught her restraint when the impulse to scream out her disgust manifested. What she did do is hurl the unbound case file into the air. The many papers scattered then showered down on her. She seized the other case files and threw them likewise, when she finished, the room was thick with slowly falling papers. It was these that hid the many gas masked figures bearing down on her.

Guards had entered the room while she was hurling case files up in the air. When the curtain of flickering falling paper cleared they were almost on her. She bolted for the louvre, but was grabbed half-way. A fierce Savate strike sent her assailant to the floor. The two second long delay was all it took for another guard to seize her arm, she poised her free arm for another strike but it was held by yet another captor; trying the wrench her limbs free was useless their grips were strong. Irma began to kick, but a truncheon blow into her stomach took all fight out of her.

She was brought before a group of lab coated men wearing their own gas masks; one had a birdcage with a canary in it. An extended observation of the yellow avian had one scientist give the all clear. Their gas masks were removed. Totenkopf was the leader of this bunch.

"You have murdered my scientists and interfered with the almighty progress of science." He accused.

"What you do is abominable." She yelled in French.

Totenkopf turned to a bespectacled Proffessor behind him who clearly knew the Gallic tongue, but not for translation.

His next line was in perfect French. "I don't skulk in the darkness and kill people."

A guard handed the fear gas cylinder to Totenkopf; he was clearly interested in the product but soon turned his attention back to the black clad woman. In one swift move he tore off her gas mask.

Cuthbert Calculus was the bespectacled Professor, he recognised the woman's face from crime photos in Parisian newspapers.

"This is Irma Vep, a notorious cat burglar and murderess."

Irma screeched. "And I know just who to murder next."

Totenkopf was not phased by the hateful stare of the catburglar; he was a somewhat touched by her appearance; as if it resonated within his memories of someone dear to him. A command was given in German to a lab coated man to the right, who then reached into his pockets and assembled a hypodermic syringe.

Irma resumed her struggles with greater ferocity but not only could she not break free of her restrainers, they managed to hold her reasonably still while an orderly pushed up her sleeve and sterilize the typical entry point for the needle.

Totenkopf turned to Calculus. "Give her to the future man." He said in French. "I will send him his instructions.

The needle entered Irma's arm.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter 39**

A repeating hammer sound on metal woke Biggles, he was barely conscious and unable to move. Water that had trickled into the beached rocket and flooded the cabin, nearly immersing him, it was up to his chin. He could not raise himself higher he felt weak all over; drowning would commence in a couple of minutes.

Whatever hold on consciousness he had it was also weak, only the constant hammering from outside kept him awake. A panel seemed to tear inward from its rivets as the pounding intensified.

Biggles' memory also seemed to blur, he wasn't sure the rocket took him back to Earth. It could have crashed on some alien planet.

The hammered panel fell into the fuselage just as the water level reached Biggles lower lip. A giant claw reached through the new hole. The wounded pilot's consciousness faded.

A lifting sensation allowed Biggles to waken with blurred vision. He was free of the water and the rocket. A huge bulk above him was where his ascension was taking him and a dark mouth opened up to receive him. Biggles tried to roll off what he figured to be a giant's hand, but he was too weak as was his consciousness, he lost it again.

An Indian voice softly stirred him to wakefulness, the burred vision began to clear and see that he was in a bed on the _Luftpirat_ and Lindo was tending to his recovery. A grin came over the crewman's face as Biggles' head lifted from the pillow. He could move now.

"You have been through quite an ordeal." Said Lindo. "That rocket crashed near where we and Gregor could get to you."

"Gregor is here?" Asked Biggles surprised that he could talk after he felt like his facial organs had been twisted by the flight.

"Yes he escaped and immediately honed in on the beached rocket and got you out of there just in time. We got there just after, and placed you on a lift to the _Luftpirat_."

Biggles tried to contain a giggle, for a few faint moments he believed that he had crashed on planet Venus; a clawed monster had broken into the cabin and handed him over to a Venusian giant to be devoured.

His arms and legs could move though they were sluggish and a touch sore.

"We know how to treat G-force induced physical trauma." Said Lindo. "You will recover your full faculties soon.

"Your clothes are here." He indicated the plush couch with his apparel sitting neatly folded. "I suggest you wait for complete recovery, however should you choose to put them on now, good luck to you."

Lindo left the room.

The sore and dizzy pilot slowly climbed out of bed and awkwardly put his clothes on. The process was slow, but he was impatient to catch up on what happened since he was forced into the rocket. His legs could ambulate but each step had to be judged for balance. Once he opened the door Biggles trudged along the deck. Gregor was there and embraced his friend fondly.

"Thank you, Gregor." Said Biggles. "Thank you for getting me out of that tin can. I nearly drowned."

Gregor articulated his limbs positively and crawled alongside Biggles to the control room. Captain Brieux was talking on the radio, the crew were operating a strange machine that seemed to create mist.

"We are making our own cloud." Explained Lindo. "It will hide us when we fly over the island."

Biggles noted that this synthetic mist had totally enveloped the airship and no view of the outside was possible except through the scope.

A crewman was aligning the lens to a fixed spot on the island; Brieux was relaying directions from Mors, who was still on the island with Lord Greystoke.

"We have it." Announced the crewman.

What Biggles and the crew saw on the screen was a hellish vision of the homunculi birthing pits in what looked like a bloody field where the monstrous fiends crawl out of to begin their lives of grisly destruction and military horror.

Brieux addressed the crew. "That is the source of the homunculi everyone. Captain Mors wants it destroyed immediately. Once we float over that point we will sprinkle our stockpile of Venusian toxin on that field and put an end to this abomination."

A report from the upper watch told that the cloud had fully covered the _Luftpirat_. Mors radioed in his orders to proceed. Brieux commanded the airship to fine tune its course over the island and to slowly go forward so it won't leave its cloud behind.

When it lurched forward Biggles felt his insides protest at the sudden motion, he was not ready for action yet. Lindo motioned him to speak into the radio. Gregor helped the wobbly pilot take those few awkward steps to the speaker.

"Ahoy there Biggles." Came Mors voice. "How was your rocket trip?"

"Terrible." Replied Biggles. "It nearly crushed the life out of me."

"How are you now?"

"My recovery is not complete. I can barely stand."

"You'll be right as rain soon. Have you found out what we are doing?"

"You are going to destroy the homunculi birthing pits."

"Is that fine with you? Remember M gave you command."

"Those creatures are abominations and Totenkopf, their creator, is insane. He has a God complex and the scientific instrumentation to facilitate it."

"You've met him?"

"Yes and he has to be stopped. Destroying the source of the homunculi will be a good start."

"Very well then. Captain Brieux, you can proceed."

Mors voice cut out. The airship covered by a drifting synthetic cloud floated over the island. Biggles could make out, through the scope, some elephant birds in the forest clearings. The ship's course kept it clear of the volcano, they were flying low enough to crash into it. Brieux's steering was professional requiring only subtle corrections to compensate for sidewards drifting.

The large eucalyptus tree appeared in the scope, after a minor adjustment in position, the _Luftpirat_ was directly above the birthing pits. All activity in the abominable field seemed as per usual. No one seemed to notice the clouded ship above them. Wranglers helped a newborn homunculus out of its freshly torn open pit and lead it to the conditioning centre.

"That should be the last abomination born." Said Biggles.

Mors voice transmitted on the radio. "You are in position. Now drop the payload."

"What about you." Asked Biggles. "Are you clear?"

"Both Greystoke and I are covered. You can proceed."

Captain Brieux gave the order to drop the Venusian toxin. A mass of sparkling dust fell from the open belly of the _Luftpirat_. The crew turned their attention to the the large scope screen. As the substance fell onto the field, the wranglers must have thought it was gold dust; they even opened the hands to collect some. Then it hit them, they suddenly grasped their throats as if some invisible entity was choking the life out of them. Each exposed wrangler keeled over in a seizure, some even clutched their chests as other important bodily functions began to close down, It was all over for them in a few seconds, they stopped moving.

As the dust settled in the birthing pits one homunculus tore through his membrane and roared out a protest as the toxin was destroying a life that had just begun. His vocal organs soon shut down as did his breathing, he threshed about until his other organs shut down.

A general agitation erupted in all birthing pits as they became saturated with the toxin. All membranes turned sickly black; most of these were pushed up from within as the developing homunculi desperately wanted out; some tore through, whether ready or not they went into seizures the moment they saw the light of day.

Two more wranglers entered the field to check on the commotion only to fall victim to falling toxin.

The settled dust ate its way into the nutrient feeding pipes and sent its lethal power into the umbilical cords of all birthing pits. The raging occupants heaved and growled in protest until the whole field became motioless and silent.

"That's it." Exalted Biggles. "The homunculi are dead."

"Not so fast." Blared Mors voice on the radio. "We have only stopped them making more for a while. I want you to redirect the scope eighty degrees starboard."

Lindo began moving the scope lens; whatever Mors saw through his spyglass they struggled to focus on. A report from the upper lookout peering through the cloud cover with a periscope gave more precise co-ordinates. The super zeppelin was the point of interest; it was docked at the conditioning centre and it was receiving passengers. The hydraulic gangplank did not lead to the gondola; it lead into the huge gasbag. All figures crossing the gangplank crawled along the zeppelin's hull and attached themselves to the large bulk.

This boarding went on for a long time; the homunculi moved unquestioningly along the surface of the gasbag to their designated position and maintained a firm grip on the hull. Some even crawled on top of other boarders to form a second layer of mass passengers. There was not one case of a homunculus losing his grip or footing and falling to his death.

The entire surface of the super zeppelin will soon be covered twofold except for the under carriage. The homunculi would not be able to maintain their grip with the full force of gravity. Despite this limitation, the number of homunculi being transported amounted to several thousand.

"We see it Captain." Said Biggles into the radio. "So this is how they bring so many to the Front."

"Yes, the Front." Uttered Mors. "If we don't do something, those homunculi will terrorise the Western Front in a matter of days."

Brieux spoke up. "Captain, do you want us to ram it."

Mors was silent for a few seconds then issued his orders. "No. This requires something more profound. Lindo, have Izzy buttons prepare the heat ray."

A general gasp emanated from the bridge crew upon hearing this.

"Yes Captain." Answered Lindo.

Biggles spoke into the radio. "Captain, I take it that you are going to destroy the super zeppelin?"

"Why yes Biggles. And every one of those abominations it's carrying will go with it. The _Luftpirat_ hasn't been noticed yet; we can do this with little effort. If that is OK with you?"

"It is."

Biggles watched the last of the numerous homunculi attach themselves to the zeppelin hull and the hydraulic ganglank withdrew. Izzy buttons set up a portable generator on the bridge, it gave the impression with its buzzing of have a lot of energy contained within it. Lindo attached a hose to the ouput jack. The camera like mount at the end of the hose interested Biggles most; it had an array of parabolic mirrors where the lens would've been. The pilot's memories of what he saw in museums was tweaked.

"That's the Martian heat ray." Biggles yelled.

"Why yes." Answered Izzy. "The very same heat ray the Martians wielded when they invaded Earth twenty years ago. Many Physicists have tried to reproduce it; Totenkopf himself no doubt tried. Captain Mors is the only one to get one working and it is only to be used to destroy the machinery of war."

The super zeppelin began to turn around its course was clearly going to be north across the Indian Ocean to the Western Front in Europe. Homonculi was not its only cargo; dangling from cables connected to its undercarriage were four more of those powerful tanks

"I never thought I would be glad to see a functioning heat ray." Said Biggles. "This super zeppelin must not deliver those horrors to the Front."

Huge propellers drove the large airship away from the island, soon it will be too fast to catch, but Mors ordered the crew to wait for it to be over the ocean. Lindo donned heat proof gloves and aimed the alien weapon, he would be shooting through the cloud cover, but he was confident.

When the target cleared the island Mors transmitted the command to fire. A bright flash spat from the mirrored case. A destructive force hit the super zeppelins undercarriage and tore through the hull. Blaugas erupted in flame which shot out to immerse half the gondola in fire.

Lindo adjusted his aim upwards for a second shot. Another bright flash spoke and this time the top part of the airship was hit. The heat ray instantly turned the clinging homunculi in its path to fire then it bit into the gasbag and there was an almighty boom as the hydrogen bags exploded. Fire lept out of the hull and consumed many attached homunculi. There would have been much growling as many of the synthetic monsters were mollified before losing their grip and falling as they were burning into the water far below.

The heat ray did not stop there it moved along the entire length of the airship to produce a series of major conflagrations. Lindo knew Totenkopf had invented safety devices to prevent these conflagrations from spreading, so the heat ray must destroy each hydrogen bag directly, and it did.

Of the many homunculi who noticed the fiery explosions coming their way only a few saw sense in jumping clear of the doomed airship, those that did would either be too late, be enveloped by the orange heat before falling clear or actually get clear only to begin a fall they would not survive. Many homunculi just growled and threshed their arms about until the fire engulfed them.

Two crewman managed to parachute out of the gondola before the ultimate final explosion that destroyed everything. The four dangling tanks dropped into the ocean as did the two parachutists who then had the flaming framework of the super zeppelin fall on top of them.

Lindo turned off the heat ray and bid Izzy to pack it away. Mors transmitted his well done message. A general feeling of victory flooded the bridge crew, even Gregor articulated his limbs with exaltation.

Biggles turned to his friend. "Sadly for us Gregor it is not over."

"Why do you say that?" Asked Lindo.

"We have to get Totenopf. As soon as I am better, Gregor and I are going back in."


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter 40**

Mors switched off the radio and peered through his spyglass at the destruction of the homunculi breeding field.

"Excellent. " He exalted. "They can't make anymore monsters for weeks if not months."

"What if poison drifts or lingers?" Asked Tarzan.

"It won't. That Venusian toxin kills whatever it settles on then dies along with its victim. It did what it was supposed to do then it will disappear. Totenkopf won't know what hit his abominations."

"How long will Brinken sleep?"

The geneticist was given a shot, through a hidden hypodermic needle, that put him to sleep.

"About a day." Answered Mors. "He will not be raising any alarms."

Their course took them back outdoors, employing a rocky track to a chosen entrance point in the volcano's side. Entering the complex across the homunculi breeding fields was ruled out as there would be too much attention there.

The explosion of the super zeppelin had woken up every bird on the island and probably every land animal too. Flocks of birds dotted the sky, flying this way and that to cope with the sudden disrupting sound, shock wave, heat and smoke from the aerial catastrophe. A herd of eohippi galloped past the two League members, there was nothing pursuing the little horses, it was the fright and panic that resulted from the fiery thunder.

It took a while for the animal kingdom to settle down; the birds gradually flew back to their trees. Tarzan realised then, that the general faunal chaos had blinded his instincts, he and Mors had just walked into danger.

A clifface to their left had several large holes on or near ground level.

Tarzan turned around to Mors. "Captain, watch out."

Mors drew his pistol just in time to see a large grey ape leave the hole nearest to him and charge with snarling fangs. A pistol shot put a bullet in its head, the ape dropped immediately.

Instantly many other fierce apes ambulated on their feet and knuckles out of the little caves giving a snarling reception to the two travelers. Most approached Tarzan, only two moved towards Mors.

"Captain don't use the gun again." Advised Tarzan.

"What then?" He asked as he backed off slowly. Both his simian antagonists were approaching at the same speed he was backing off. Mors could easily take one out with the pistol, but if he did that, the other could pounce before the second shot.

Tarzan could not answer the question, a bull ape leapt from a high cave in order to land on top of him. A quick side step coupled with a well-timed upward blow knocked the descending stunt ape out just before he hit the ground. Without conscious bracing the fall was injurious for the jumping attacker, he did not get up.

All other apes who approached Tarzan seemed about to pounce simultaneously when the jungle lord beat out a bizarre mixture of earsplitting vocal sounds and exaggerated gestures, including beating his chest. Mors recognised some sounds borrowed from the Zinj ape they had encountered before, were incorporated into the primordial message. A heavy answering growl emitted from the caves. A gorilla, slightly larger than the others walked out into the light, beat its own chest as furiously as it snarled. Tarzan drew his knife.

Mors realised that the jungle lord just issued a challenge to the tribal leader, who accepted with a relishing bloodlust. Both simians that moved on the luftpirate withdrew and turned away to see the contest, as did the other apes.

The ape chieftain stood erect at seven feet then walked tall to the ready human. The fangs were for tearing through the skin and biting out internal organs while the hand would grapple then pound bones to pieces. Tarzan darted aside while seizing the nearest limb that reached for him; a firm push in on the furry arm upset the simian's balance for an instant which Tarzan used to slash its leg at the hamstring.

A growl of pain had the chieftain swing his grabbed arm Tarzan's way. Not only did the jungle lord lose his grip, but the swing clipped him on the face, knocking him backward. This moment of vulnerability was seized upon by the giant ape, he would have been on top of his challenger had not the few required steps been hampered by his injury. Tarzan slammed both feet forward against the simian stomach, to knock him back to a fall. Both antagonists got to their feet, Tarzan's new nose bleed seemed to heighten his enemy's blood lust.

Eye contact was locked, the ape nostrils flared and fangs bared, eager for that blood. Tarzan backed off a little, his antagonist stepped forward to maintain proximity only to have his cut hamstring send a wave of pain through him as it tripped him up. The opportunity was not lost on the jungle lord, he slashed his knife, cutting the simian's ear, who then stood up in abject pain, raising both arms upward to feel the new wound. This was Tarzan's chance, he lunged forward and stabbed at the unguarded chest. In his hurry, Tarzan missed the heart, sinking the blade only half deep, below the crucial organ. Withdrawing the blade, he tried to step back but not before a simian arm hit down and whacked the knife hand; the weapon was dropped and the shocked hand went numb.

Unable to find where the knife dropped or to re-establish any feeling in his right hand, Tarzan saw, in his foe's eyes, a double resolve to bodily rip him apart and bite out all his insides.

An insane snarl preceded the next attack. A move forward to close the small distance between him and his challenger resulted in a heavy trip due to the hamstring injury, he fell flat on his face giving Tarzan a new opportunity, he jumped on the simian back and wrapped his right arm around the throat. Ferocious panic overtook the Zinj chieftain, he jumped up to try and shake off the grappler. Tarzan held firm, he tried to press the windpipe but the ape's roaring gyrations barely allowed him to maintain his hold.

Hairy arms tried futilely to reach back and seize him. Tarzan used the steady moment to press his left arm against the ape's neck and together with the right arm to form a vice. The simian tried to fall on his back, hoping to crush his deadly piggy backer. Tarzan braced his legs against the ground, preventing the backward fall, his vice like grip was not only maintained but tightened.

Mors was close enough to hear the ape vertebrae crack. The held simian tried one more time to jump aside and shake Tarzan off but his cut hamstring limited his movement ending him up on his stomach and crushing arms pressing on his neck even tighter until the sound of the spine snapping was heard by both League members.

Tarzan got up from the corpse of his antagonist and beat his own chest while his ululating yell reverberated throughout the ape dens. Lord Greystoke stood tall among the squatting Zinj simians; Mors could see that they recognised him as their leader. Once again Tarzan was Lord of the Apes.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter 41**

Irma Vep woke up but could not move; her arms, legs and virtually her entire body was clamped down inside a glass sarcophagus. Her head could move a little but there was a buzzing electrical device attached to her cranium: matter of fact there was not a single square foot of her body that did not have a wired electrode plugged into her skin.

Glowing power coils were everywhere, helping the electric lamps light up the windowless room. There was a lot of machinery about. The only decoration she could see on the gothic walls was a pentagram. There was a large bubble flask, above a Bunsen burner that had simmering red liquid in it.

A tall figure wearing a rubber apron and black gloves moved across the room and turned a switch that activated a mounted turbine, then he turned to her. The man was middle-aged with medium length grey hair, some of it frazzled, obviously by contact with electricity. The eyes showed malevolence, if not madness, and an extended look at his face told Irma that he never smiles.

She tried to speak, demanding explanations, but she could not vocalise anything. If the scientist had seen that she was conscious, he didn't seem to care; going about his business, he placed a corded element in the bubbling red liquid.

Glass tubes had streaks of lightning within, shooting from one end to the other. The man adjusted a series of dials and pressed a button. A dark glass screen underneath the bubble flask suddenly lit up as a ball of light flared up then danced around the square field, no bigger than a regular window.

The buzzing got louder; not just in her head attachments but throughout the laboratory. All apparatus was powering up for something big and it involved her. Elecricity began to run through the wired electrodes into her body. It gave a mild sting but was bearable.

Irma tried to locate the aproned figure, wondering what he was going to do next; her gaze caught a brown metallic figure sitting on a throne. The figure seemed to be a female mannequin made of shiny metal. Then its head moved. _This was no mannequin, it must be an automaton_ , Irma thought.

The feminine figure continued turning its head till it faced the curious captive. Whatever passed for eyes in that metal head glowed bright for an instant then slowly turned back. The throne she was sitting on had six attached cords on each side. The man gestured to her and she nodded. _What! Is that thing alive?_ Irma asked herself.

A switch was pulled by the man, then two rings of light formed around the throne; one high, one low. Each ring traveled both up and down, never meeting, they kept to their half of the subject.

Forked lightning spewed out of a transparent sphere above Irma; each continuous streak touched an end of the glass sarcophagus, sending a fierce charge through the wired electrodes. Irma had felt electric shocks before but this was a strong continuous one. The buzzing resonated loud and the bubbling red liquid boiled with a frenzy, the light rings around the throne multiplied as did the forked lightning above her. Electricity surged through her with cruel ferocity. She couldn't scream or thresh about, just observe the metallic woman's chest glowing, then getting brighter all over her as Irma's consciousness seemed to fade.

One final look at this pain's author, and she saw the cold malevolent stare of the aproned man as he placed his hand on a lever. Sweet oblivion overcame Irma.

She woke slowly, still clamped down and unable to speak or even mutter. The electrical torture had stopped and all machinery seemed to have powered down, there was no longer any buzzing.

Her hold on consciousness was weak, she could tell she was going to black out again soon. That was convenient, the pain echoes were still hurting her.

The cruel scientist was tending to his machinery. A glance at the throne revealed it was vacant, the rings of light gone. _Where was the automaton?_ Irma wondered. A female figure approached the sarcophagus, she was naked. _Where did you come from?_ was the unasked inquiry.

Recognition gave Irma Vep the horrid half proof that her mind had cracked under the electrical abuse. The female figure was herself, it was a mirror image of herself. As Irma's consciousness slowly sank into darkness, the staring doppleganger partially closed one eye giving a look of sheer wickedness the criminal sociopath could only hope to achieve.


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter 42**

The industrial complex worked to excellence, each machine performed to such perfection on their separate but interconnected functions. Some welded parts together, some riveted, others threaded and fixed, all with calculated synchronisation.

Tom Swift had seen assembly lines in operation, he had toured the automobile factories of Loren Hardeman in Detroit; but they employed lots of people and built cars. This line only had a few human workers, and they were building the very thing that would make them obsolete: mechanical men. Matter of fact Totenkopf and Loren Hardeman looked very similar.

This finished product stood slightly taller than a man; it looked like a suit of plate armour with a head resembling an Easter Island statue. Those that had been tested and demonstrated showed well articulated arms with inpressively manipulating digits for fingers. The legs were not so impressive, the knees had only minimum bending ability. Ambulation was slow as was a march that looked like goose stepping. They could not talk, all communication was through wireless transmissions into and out of their heads.

Modestino D'ara was the Italian scientist who masterminded and supervised this development, he took the young American observer under his wing and gave further demonstrations of the mechanical mens' capabilities. Tom was dazzled of course, but did bring up the point of their poor ambulation.

"My dear Tom." Said Modestino in fluent English. "Totenkopf and other personages have handed over to me the scientific knowledge and detailed designs to render that detail a low priority. They will not be marching on the Western Front but will stay here and develop this complex into the super structure it can be. Most people who are here, working to make Totenkopf's grand vision a reality, habor thoughts of leaving this complex and going home. My mechanical men will replace them and stand and work at their place in the construction process until the final rocket is ready for take off. That will be years away but they will remain stalwart throughout this long industrial process. They will not walk away, thus improving ambulation is really not that necessary.

"If I had my way and a lot of time and money, I could give them super ambulation." Continued Modestino. "The abilty to run faster than a car,"

"Poor things." Said Tom. "I would hate to see them trip or stumble."

Modestino laughed. "Tom let me show you the blueprints that will see development in the years to come."

A locked folder of papers was opened; the blueprints were intricate and well designed by Totenkopf.

The first page seemed quite disturbing, it showed a mechanical man much like the ones just presented, but this was gigantic. Its scale was that of a twenty storey building next to it. A tiny human figure was at its feet and could easily be stepped on.

Modestino flicked the page over to reveal aeronautical designs that gave the impression of a future mechanical man being built like an airplane with no pilot. It would fly to a designated location and perform any function communicated to it.

A further page flick had the scientist point out the intended design. It was of a mechanical man that had no legs and was hovering five feet off the floor.

"Hoverability is a technology being developed here." Said the Italian. "Not just for mechanical men but for vehicles and platforms. Think of it Tom, both legs and wheels will be obsolete."

Tom took a moment to imagine a future with no people, just these metal things hovering around a lifeless yet active superstructure. He did not want to stay in Totenkopf's complex of all devouring science.

A message blared through the speaker system. All scientists were to assemble for an announcement from Totenkopf.

Modestino put the blueprints away and joined the American lad as he headed for the massing crowd of questioning scientists. Tom noticed Zarkoff, Calculus, Maxon and Vargas in the throng.

Totenkopf appeared at his podium and began his announcement.

"By now you have all heard of the sudden blight that has killed the homunculi fields and you all would've seen the destruction of the super zeppelin along with all on board. These events have damaged our ability to aid in the Fatherland's war effort. To recoup such facilities will require time and resources that I can no longer provide. It is with great regret that all contribution to the Great War will cease. No more homunculi will be cultivated, no more tanks or zeppelins will be constructed. Those few units that are completed will be the last sent to the Western Front."

A mild hubub spread among the assembled scientists along with loud protests from the German members. Imperial Navy guards also heard the announcement and were furious, some wanted to yell abuse towards the podium. It was Stalhein who commanded them to retain their composures, though he himself seemed to have a few words for Totenkopf, who continued his announcement.

"It is time to concentrate the resources and efforts of this community to the most extraordinary end for which it was initiated. War has ravaged this planet as it has twisted the common soul of mankind. A new genesis must happen, a fresh beginning that will wipe humanity's filthy board clean."

Totenkopf yanked on a dangling string which unrolled a poster next to his podium. The picture was of fresh clean people in light civilian clothing happily playing, in an Eden like garden, with cute woodland critters.

"This is the future we must create, but it will not be here. This Earth has lost its innocence; war has defiled it. The place for this divine future is the planet that you have heard me refer to as The World of Tomorrow."

He yanked on another dangling string. "And this is how we are going to get there."

Another poster unrolled on the podium's other side. It's picture was that of a rocket, a huge one, far bigger than any the scientists had worked on. So big that the entire volcano interior would become its launching silo.

"This is our target achievement." Blared Totenkopf. "This is what you must all strive for. I will gear this place and all mechanisms to constructing this glorious ark and seeing it travel, with Earth's new beginning to The World of Tomorrow."

A jubilant applause broke out among the crowd. Tom joined in, he was pleased to hear that very few of the monstrosities Unit Eleven created will make their way to the Western Front. Germany's ability to reverse the tide of defeat will be negligible. The League's mission appears to already be a success.

Hans Zarkoff approached Tom. "This is a long term goal Tom. Many more test rockets will have to be constructed before perfection is attained, only then can the long task of building the big ark begin. It will all take many years. You will probably be the only one still alive to see The World of Tomorrow."

"Are you staying around throughout this long haul?"

Zarkoff did not answer, he just smiled.

Tom said. "This ark could take a lot of people to this new world."

Jorge Vargas cut in. "Actually it's going to take animals. After all it is an ark."

Tom asked. "What about people?"

Vargas spent ominous seconds staring at Tom before answering. "Yes. It will take people to."


	43. Chapter 43

**Chapter 43**

"There it is Tarzan." Announced Mors as pointed to a set of stone stairs with a flaming torch on each side.

The steps were few and led to an entrance into the volcano's interior.

"Though its hardly a secret entrance." Added Mors.

"It is now." Said Tarzan. "Zinj apes are its sentry. They're with us now."

The Zinj apes escorted the two League members along the path. Tarzan was their chieftain now, they would do his bidding.

Mors found it suspenseful walking with the primordial furies; he kept his distance and tried unsuccessfully to avoid eye contact. Whenever he met their wild gaze, it looked like they were a second away from pouncing on him. Only Greystoke's tenuous hold on their loyalty stopped them doing so. Seeing the entrance brought a little relief.

A look around to see if the general simian hostility had abated; revealed to Mors that it had been replaced by a new concern about something in the vicinity. It wasn't the newly discovered entrance that had all the apes and Tarzan spellbound, they were each frantically engaging their senses to find a freshly perceived danger.

A familiar roar told all. It reverberated throughout the area. Tarzan drew his knife and the Zinj apes braced for an engagement. The sabre-toothed tiger appeared on a rock platform to designate the entire party as prey. He bore his enlarged canines as weapons thirsting for blood, then leaped down from his rocky stage to charge.

Mors backed off keeping his rifle level; he noticed the big cat had a manacle around its right foreleg which had a long chain attached to it. This beast had become a second sentry for the stone entrance. The apes snarled then, upon word from Tarzan, rushed towards the oncoming titan. They surely felt no fear. The tiger pounced on the fastest of these and, in a split-second, clamped his jaws on the furry neck and crushed his spine. The other simians were on the feline monstrosity a second later: some leapt onto his back and pounded the flesh while emitting their battle grunts; others assaulted the side with their own teeth; one faced it head on and was soon impaled by both biting canines. The unfortunate ape opened his mouth to scream, but it was blood that gushed out, as his insides were mashed by the powerful chewing.

The tiger rolled to shake off the assailants on both his back and sides, this was done while his last victim remained impaled on his sabre teeth. It dislodged his simian foes for a mere second, before they resumed their assault. One was brought under the tiger's pressing foreleg, a heavy scratch with the other paw tore the pinned ape's front torso to ribbons.

The luftpirate could not use his rifle now for fear of hitting Tarzan or his simian allies. All the frenzied movements were unpredictable and chaotic; one such swing accidentally knocked the knife out of the jungle lords hand. Tarzan got a few feet clear of the savage fight and seized the chain attached to the manacle, he gave it a mighty yank and the tiger screamed. It had dislodged the ape corpse from its sabre teeth and clearly wanted the loin clothed man to be its next impalee. Whether the foreleg was fractured, dislocated or just sprained, it was certainly compromised; the cat's horizontal pounce was weak. Tarzan leaped high over the prehistoric fury's attack and landed on its back, quickly clamping his legs on its torso and arms around the neck.

Most Zinj apes were concentrating the attacked on the feline rear, at a muttered command from their human chief they began to employ their great strength and lift both back legs off the ground. The tiger tried to turn his head but Tarzan's legendary grip on its neck kept the sabre-toothed head pointing forward. Only one ape continued to assault the cat's front; a swipe from its uninjured forepaw dug claws into the simian throat, tearing out its organs, the unfortunate anthropoid slumped while futilely grasping its fatal wound.

Tarzan could not break this tough tiger neck but he could keep the lethal teeth and claws away from the apes who were now dragging their antagonist backwards. The uninjured feline claws dug into the hard ground and made a long scratch mark as the beast was dragged along.

Mors now had his opening and aimed his rifle at the exposed torso. Tarzan yelled out a protest, thinking the gunshot sound would not only bring attention to their presence but cause the Zinj apes to abandon their current task and attack the luftpirate. When the rifle fired it made virtually no sound; Mors had it on a secret silent setting that his advanced weaponry had. That shot and two subsequent shots hit the tiger killing it. The Zinj apes were not angered by the silent firearm; they relaxed their hold on their now dead opponent.

Tarzan got up off the dead tiger's back and then heard Mors call out to him.

"Well well. There's Irma Vep at the entrance signaling us to come in."


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

Stalhein seized Tom Swift by the shoulder and pressed him against the wall. The boy knew the treatment would get worse if he tried to struggle, he stayed put to receive the vicious whispers.

"It's true; Totenkopf is ceasing all aid to the war effort. The bad things started happening shortly after you, Biggles and that abomination show up. I don't know who else is in your bizarre lot, but they have ruined all hope for Germany. If the Fatherland loses this war, its people will get dirt kicked in their faces throughout the following years."

He turned from Tom's ear to face him.

"You're young Tom. You will see my country rise out of the oncoming despair and it will not be with friendly attitudes. You think about that."

Stalhein released Tom then moved to join the German military personell who were leaving the island. Most Navy men were leaving. The ships in port would get them as close to the Fatherland as the allied blockade will allow.

Only a fraction of the industrial workers were leaving. Most were staying after the promise of vast financial remuneration.

All scientists were told to remain and work on the super rocket. Several took advantage of the mass exit and lost themselves in the departing crowd: among them: Hans Zarkoff, Cuthbert Calculus, Mitslav Los, Mannfelt, Rossum and Vergerus. Tom considered doing likewise but The League were not finished yet. He knew Mors and the others were behind the Super Zeppelin's destruction and the Homunculi massacre. They would try to close this place down for good, once that is achieved they will take him home.

All wranglers were leaving; they were not needed anymore. A good deal of technicians and maintenance workers joined the departing crowd.

Professor Kokintz passed Tom. "Totenkopf will see you now."

Tom moved to the little secondary office where Totenkopf was taking interest in a small gas cylinder.

"Greetings Tom." He said as he put down the cylinder. "I hope my recent announcement makes you happy. There will be less of those synthesized horrors on the Western Front.

"Less?" Asked Tom as he sat down.

All that is left of the homunculi and the tanks are being shipped off to France on the secondary Zeppelins. That will be the last of them. This facility will now concentrate its scientific advancement on rockets, industrial automation and biological reconstruction. What do you think of that?"

"And these mechanical man projects?" Asked Tom.

There will be resources directed towards them. One day they will walk the Earth and fly in the sky."

"I am glad you have desisted sending these horrors to the battlefields. I wasn't expecting this beautiful decision to come from you."

"Tom, I may be a Bosch and a patriot, but I don't like seeing this world tear itself apart. The people of Earth have lost too much innocence. I cannot in all conscience facilitate their fetid evil and self-destruction."

Several seconds were spent staring at the genius doctor clearly overcome with a bitter misanthropy.

"Won't the Kaiser and the top brass be severely disappointed?" Asked Tom.

"It doesn't matter. I don't need them. My resources can come from other sources."

Tom noticed that a map of the Himalayas behind Totenkopf had a small area marked out, it was called Shang-Ri-La.

"And your country." Inquired Tom. "Are you prepared to turn your back on it?"

"From now on, I'm in it for The World of Tomorrow. You Tom; you and the other scientists must make this sweet concept a reality. The rockets. You must perfect the rockets, so we can proceed with the Ark rocket and leave this doomed Earth."

"I'm with you Doctor." Assured Tom as he offered his hand.

Totenkopf moved his arm to do the handshake and knocked over a framed picture on his desk. The boy and the doctor shook hands as the former noticed the now flat photo facing up from the desk.

"My long lost daughter." Said Totenkopf.

What Tom noted was that the daughter was a dead ringer for Irma Vep.


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

The heat ray flashed sending its destructive energy into a small zeppelin carrying a single tank and a small horde of homunculi. Each of the synthetic monstrosities growled as the erupting fires engulfed them. A huge explosion put an end to all cries and sent the flaming skeletal structure falling to the sea beneath. The dangling tank went with it.

"That's a few less worries for our soldiers on the Western Front." Said Biggles as he patted Lindo on the back.

"It is our pleasure to see the machinery of war disappear." Announced Lindo.

"Have we got them all?" Asked the pilot.

"Just one left." Answered Captain Brieux. "It should be casting off about now."

A crewman, looking through what had to be a long range scope, confirmed that statement.

"They haven't noticed what we have been doing." Added the Executive Officer.

Captain Brieux had taken the _Luftpirat_ to a far off intercept point where any zeppelin flying from the island to France would be met with the heat ray.

After the Super Zeppelin's destruction it was decided to do the same to any of the remaining airships who were carrying such foul cargo to the fields of war. Mors found the battlefields ugly enough, without these abominations adding to its horror. His standing orders were clear.

The far distance had allowed the _Luftpirat_ to destroy each aerial transport without alerting the others, so one by one they fly to an intercept point and had the heat ray send them and their terrible load to oblivion.

"The last zeppelin will be here in a minute." Announced Lindo while offering Biggles the heat ray. Biggles was aghast, looked around at the crews' look of approval, then felt highly honoured to wield such God like power. He donned the heat proof gloves, took the camera like mount, placed his finger on the trigger and stepped into the firing position.

A synthesized cloud hid the _Luftpirat_ , so when the last zeppelin casually passed on its way to France, it was oblivious to its danger.

Biggles observed that it was a normal sized airship with only a quarter of it surface covered with homunculi and only one tank dangling from its gondola. It was carrying far less than its capacity. What this told the League member was that this was all that was left for Totenkopf to send into battle. With the birthing pits destroyed there was nothing left to send. This mission the League was undertaking was almost complete.

Will this act make him a Martian, a God or a devil? Biggles spent little time pondering those questions, these abominations must not reach the Western Front, he was a troubleshooter, that's what he was. He squeezed the trigger and the parabolic mirrors flashed, sending the heat ray to the upper part of the zeppelin, then along the top where all the hydrogen bags were. The explosions occurred in succsession virtually the instant the ray struck. Biggles did not want to give the fire retarding qualities these new zeppelins had, any chance to contain these conflagrations. He will destroy all hydrogen bags with one sweep of this heat ray.

All homunculi were on the last quarter of the bag surface, they began to incinerate. A few had the initiative to loose their hold on the rigging and drop clear of the imminent all consuming fire. Most homunculi went to a fiery oblivion with the airship crew who had no time to parachute out.

Those homunculi that dropped clear would not survive the fall. The burning structure would fall on top of them and the one tank would sink instantly.

"Thank you." Said Biggles as he handed the camera like mount back to Lindo who along with Izzy Buttons began to put the deadly machine away.

"That's all of them." Announced Brieux. "The mission is a success."

"Not yet." Replied Biggles. "We must return to the island and get Totenkopf. He is the man behind all this horror. This doctor is insane, we must stop him doing anything else."

Captain Brieux brought the _Luftpirat_ , with its cloud cover back to the island and stopped it over the mouth of the volcano.

Captain Mors and Tarzan were seen in the surface scanning scope, they had found an entrance about half-way up the mountain side, and there appeared to be Irma Vep waving them to come in.

Biggles said. "Gregor and I will fly down the mouth of the volcano and join them."

Gregor Samsa articulated his limbs positively at that idea.

Captain Brieux opened the floor hatch and bade the two League members good luck.

"Move away from the mouth after we are gone; lest Totenkopf fires a rocket at you." Commanded Biggles as Gregor's limbs embraced him.

Gregor dropped through the hatchway with his passenger , sprouted wings and flew into the dark mouth.


	46. Chapter 46

**Chapter 46**

An endless succession of water dripping sounds every two seconds woke Irma Vep. They provided a gentle serenity to counter the violence of having much electricity run through her body. These splashing sounds would usually be an irritating constant but not now. She'd had her sleep, now those drops were the rational sequence Irma needed to reconnect with the world.

Her surroundings were close and narrow; she was in a bluestone cell with a thick steel door, no window, a single bunk and a ventilation shaft. It was the latter that interested her the most. Beyond the grill it traveled upwards. Irma's body had been through much abuse, such physical exertion required to climb it may be too much for her.

She was slow to rouse: gradually moving her fingers and toes; then arms and legs. After wetting her gums she imparted some effort to lift herself up to a sitting position on the bunk.

Irma felt like she had been squeezed through a laundry ringer.

The dripping came from a pipe near the ceiling with a single dull light. There was no hole in the wall, just the shaft grill. A tray dispensing panel was at the door's bottom, but there was no window, barred or otherwise. She had expected better if the Paris police ever caught her.

Touching her wrists told her that both concealed blades had been removed from her jump suit. The hood was still there, though her eye shadow had been wiped away. A finger search around her waist gave found a fresh hope for her escape. A mock buckle was still attached, so too was a rectangular stud; she extracted both items and joined them together to form a spanner.

She got up off the bunk and exercised her body, it gradually was restored to full functionality. When the neck twists were finished she focused her attention on the shaft grill, it was bolted into the wall. The spanner was roughly the right size for the nuts; a strained effort was required to loosen each one, but afterward they spun off with ease. Progress was slow but the grill eventually came out.

Irma spent a few minutes catching her breath and preparing herself for the cramped quarters travel. She crawled into and up the shaft, it was narrow; her arms needed only to spread out one foot on either side to press against the sides and lift her upwards until her feet could do likewise and support her. Another heave upwards with her arms gained her a few measures of height until her legs and feet were again called upon to stop her slipping down. This process was repeated with increasingly strained effort Irma feared her recently tortured body may not manage.

It was dark, the light below was getting fainter, and she was getting weaker, she could not see an end to this vertical passage, but she had to persevere. There were no footholds in this shaft, her legs needed to press hard against the sides to stop her plummeting to the bottom. Such a fall would be injurious, the light of her cell below was not visible anymore, she had ascended far when a strained heave upwards brought her head into contact with something metal.

Irma fixed herself on the spot with her overstrained legs then groped the impediment above; it was a grill. She tried to push it up and was relieved to find it was not bolted in. It was heavy but it only needed to lift two inches before sliding aside. One last effort was called upon her arms and legs to lift her through the gap; it was narrower than the shaft but Irma was a thin woman; she slid through with her usual professional grace.

This was a wide horizontal shaft, probably one of the main ones. She could lie down now and relax her limbs. After a few minutes she took an interest in a light source at one end of the dark tunnel. Her limbs had recovered some strength, she began a crawl along the metal floor. Industrial noises of hammering, welding and riveting sounded in the distance. There were no side grills here leading to rooms or laboratories,so there were no distractions until she reached the end louvre.

On the other side was the volcano interior, a high level above the floor. A series of steel catwalks traversed the heights at this level, one led to a bright archway beyond which had to be outside.

The louvre was fixed to the wall so Irma began the repetitive task of applying her crude spanner to the nuts. Silence was maintained while straining her muscles when loosening the firmly tightened bolts; which was just as well; she noticed two machine gun nests perched on a lower catwalk on the volcano interior's other side. A fusilier occupied each nest with their Parabellums directed at the centre catwalk on her level, a look down through the slats revealed two similarly placed machine gun nests on the catwalk just beneath her. They were clearly waiting for a hostile intruder to enter through the archway and walk across the centre.

Irma carefully continued working on the louvre, despite the fact that she could not leave the shaft without being seen by the machine gunners. She was nearly finished when a black clad presence ambulated across the centre catwalk towards the archway. It was a woman carrying a shepherd's staff; her jump suit was much like Irma's except for a cape that shook in the breeze. The hood covered her head but was removed when the figure signaled the far machine gunners: it was when she turned around to signal the other two that Irma's shock memories of electricity coursing through her and that sanity ripping moment when she was facing her own evil face, returned. The face on that black clad woman was her own: the eyes were shaded like hers usually were; the jump suit, an exact copy of her own. This imposter was obviously setting up someone to be ambushed while traversing the catwalk.

"That future man has made another me." Irma thought to herself. "But this double is much more evil than I am. How horrible."

As the black clad figure walked into the bright archway, Irma finished unfixing the louvre, but did not push it out. To proceed any further would certainly mean being seen; she had to wait and observe.

Ape sounds emanated from the light as if something was agitating them. The black clad woman stepped on to the catwalk, she was motioning someone to enter the interior and follow her. In other words she was luring some poor bastard or bastards into a lethal trap. Two guys stepped through the archway onto the catwalk; they were Captain Mors and Lord Greystoke.


	47. Chapter 47

**Chapter 47**

Both Tarzan and Mors faced the black clad figure ushering them into the volcano. Although she was familiar to Mors, the jungle lord found her strange. He grabbed the luftpirate's arm.

"She does not smell like Irma." Warned Tarzan. "This something else."

A cape and shepherd's staff were the only unfamiliar items on this friendly usher. To Mors, it had to be Irma Vep.

"Glad you made it." Said the figure. "Come with me. I know a secret way to Totenkopf."

It was Irma's voice. When the Zinj apes observed the figure, they let out loud calls of danger and disapproval. Tarzan struggled to find common words in their language, no word could be equated to human or woman; he did make out words for demon, totem pole and there was one use of a rarely used word some apes use for machine.

Mors had already began ascending the stairs when Tarzan turned away from the apes' general concern and noticed him.

"No Captain." Yelled Tarzan."

"We must get to Totenkopf." Replied Mors.

The jungle lord and his savage retinue reluctantly followed. Sunlight shone on the entrance, making the torches purely decorative. An arch was at the top of the stairs. When both League members stepped through they found themselves on a catwalk in a vast, highly industrialised and illuminated interior. Sounds of factories, refineries and joineries filled the air along with matching smells. It was a long way down to the volcano bed. Catwalks were everywhere, not just this height but on several levels above and below. The interior perimeter was ringed with them.

"Come." Ushered the black clad figure. "Before we are seen."

She kept a good distance between herself and her followers. Mors and Tarzan took a few steps then each stopped.

Mors said. "She didn't object to, or show any concern about the Zinj apes' presence."

Tarzan replied. "She not Irma."

Irma Vep had to work fast. Her fellow League members were walking into a deadly crossfire. The machine gunners will fix their attention on their targets, this should allow the cat burglar to leave the vent; she did so without notice. Placing herself above one of the nests below she dropped the metal louvre and it hit home, knocking out the machine gunner with minimal sound. One down three to go. Irma began her swift and spritely rush down a ladder to the other nest below.

Zinj apes ambulated through the archway re-iterating their dire warnings. The black clad figure turned around to the two men who stopped following her; gave a wicked look by slowly closing one of her eyes then gave a hand signal.

"Now." She yelled.

Machine guns fired from three directions strafing the catwalk, Mors felt a bullet hit his rifle, tearing the weapon out of his hand to a fall below; both he and Tarzan ducked to the metal mesh floor as the catwalk sparkled with a multitude of bullet impacts. There were three bullet streams, all starting from the rim catwalk below; only one of these had the League members in an easy line of fire. Tarzan and Mors rolled themselves to the right edge of the catwalk, putting the mesh path between them and that machine gun. The bullets were stopped by the mesh grid though impact sparks stung the two ambushees.

This cover had its drawback, Mors realised this position brought them into another machine gun's line of fire. One Parabellum to their right fired at them and missed by an inch sending his volley into a Zinj ape.

"All that gunner had to do." Mors thought. "Was to turn his fire one degree, and we're both dead."

A look at his ambusher's nest had Mors grinning with new hope.

Irma Vep landed behind the gunner after a swift climb from above. She tried to push the surprised fusilier over the nest wall to a fall below, but he kicked back then faced the interference. Savate was called for here, Irma lashed out, sending hand strikes and kicks to the man; his nose soon bleeding and ribs bruised, he managed to deliver a backhand to her face. The cat burglar recovered instantly as the gunner reached for his pistol: Irma landed a savate kick into his crotch, impelling him to keel forward in pain; two fists closed on his head, each, with great force, impacting a temple. He had great pain and disorientation, he could not use his held pistol. Irma delivered a savate chop on his hand causing him to drop the firearm. She picked up the gun and shot her agonised and debilitated antagonist.

The machine gun was intact, Irma redirected it to the manned nest opposite her. She squeezed the trigger, the powerful kickback forced her hands back, sending her volley above the enemy gunner's head.

"Damn." She thought. "That must be what they call riding up."

Her target ceased his firing and ducked beneath his short sandbag wall. Irma cursed that throughout her criminal career she had never seen fit to get the feel of a mounted machine gun. Nevertheless, there was another target.

Biggles and Gregor had noticed the bullet streams as they descended the volcano interior. The impact sparks on the catwalk were an attention draw. What they both saw was Tarzan and Mors pinned down on the catwalk being fired upon. The image of Irma Vep was strangely upright and unafraid of the the two lethal volleys coming from two machine gun nests on the rim catwalk below. The pilot gave his instructions to the insect man who hovered above the gun still firing after the other, for some reason ceased.

Biggles was dropped into the small redoubt behind its gunner who turned to see the disturbance and find a British pilot drawing his pistol. Unbelievable surprise delayed him for a second before he reached for his own Luger. Biggles fired two bullets into him.

Gregor flew to the remaining nest and seized the ducking occupant, who froze with fear before a barbed tarsus pierced his heart.

With all machine guns silent, Tarzan lifted himself up to see the black clad figure, that had led them into an ambush, tear of the curved end of her shepherd's staff and wield the now straight stick like it was a melee weapon.

Heated battle cries bellowed from the Zinj apes. several of their tribe had been gunned down in the multiple fusilades. Tarzan commanded them to attack the black clad figure, who twirled her stick like a quarterstaff. The first ape to charge her had the staff smashed against the side of his head, turning him into lobotomised heap. Another charger pounced for an upper attack, the staff deflected his flight off the catwalk to a deathly fall downward to the volcano floor. The next ape tried the same attack, he was also deflected but during the fall he managed to grab a nearby catwalk rail and lift himself to safety. A fourth attacker did not pounce, the staff hit his side but he was up in an instant, a second strike was parried with a furry arm: he was on her, teeth bit into her arm. She showed no pain or distress; the stick was dropped, her other arm seized her assailant's mandible and forced the jaws to open. Her newly released arm clamped its hand on the simian throat and tore out the breathing organs.

Before retrieving her stick, the black clad woman grabbed the injured head of her first opponent in both hands and gave it a powerful twist. Tarzan heard the neck snap.

There was no attempt to tend her bitten arm, The black clad woman picked up her stick and approached the League members. Mors fired his pistol at her. She brought out her hand, as if to block the bullet, though she was too late. When she put her hand down, it was clear that the shot hit her in the eye. She did not drop, there was no blood at the wound, though their was damage. Electrical sparks and burning bright lights emanated from the now eyeless socket.

When Mors saw the electrical activity behind the face he realised who the black clad figure was.

"You." Mors blared out with utter disdain.

She leveled her quarterstaff as she continued her approach, it began to twirl fast, then faster and faster; its rotation speed was more than any human hand could manage and yet it twirled even faster, till it spun like an airplane propeller.

An ape slipped past Tarzan and rushed the black clad woman, the whirling staff hit him in the side and swept the simian fury off the catwalk. It was not known if the staff's impact or the fall killed him, but he made no sound on the way down.

Quarterstaff rotation speed was only mildly abated, the sparking eyed figure revved up its threatening spin until a fierce volley of machine gun fire tore into her side.

Irma Vep had seen Biggles and Gregor neutralise the other machine gun nests. That left one target for the machine gun she had. Taking care not to ride up again she aimed the Parabellum at her diabolical double.

Multiple sounds of metal against metal thundered in rapid succession as the sudden volley ripped into the black clad woman. More sparks began to spit out of her damaged side. The force of the bullets pushed her to the side; the volley was maintained until it sent her over the catwalk edge. Sparks continued to emanate from the figure as it fell to its destruction.

Tarzan and Mors saw Irma Vep waving at them from the machine gun nest; she then began the climb to rejoin them.

"I hope she's the real Irma." Whispered Mors.

Gregor landed on the catwalk ahead carrying Biggles. There were two remaining Zinj apes, they both let out a disturbing growl when they saw Gregor. Only a firm command from Tarzan stopped them from attacking the freakish giant insect.

Irma gave hugs all round when she reunited with the League. "I see you have met my evil doppleganger."

Mors answered. "That fiend who took your likeness and led us into an ambush was a wicked mechanical creation. Both her and her creator are members of the Twilight Heroes, the German equivalent of the League. They must be helping Totenkopf."

Each League member told of their adventures since separating, this was while they walked along the catwalk to the right; the two Zinj apes trailing behind. It was decided to take an elevator to the ground floor and then seek out Totenkopf.

When they got to the platform with a shaft, they noticed a lift rising to their level. It stopped in front of them and the cage doors opened, six homunculi rushed out.

Tarzan drew his knife but found himself overtaken by screeching Zinj apes. These simians might have known that these synthetic horrors shared their genes, which to the apes, meant they were all the more abominable. They did not wait for a command from their chief, they both rushed the homunculi and fought with tooth and claw. There was no familial fraternisation from either side, the freaky cousins ceased their rush to the League to deal with their parent race.

Gregor ambulated to a one on one engagement with a homunculus, it turned from the fight with the apes and growled. A barbed tarsus pierced its chest but did not kill it; while still gored it began its savage assault on the giant insect. Gregor didn't dare withdraw the stabbing tarsus, it partially kept this opponent at arm's length, though it failed to find the heart and end this fight. Both nippers cut shreds of the pale skinned torso, snipped the ugly nose and even severed fingers but the creature's fighting spirit was virtually uncompromised. It dealt furious blows against the insect man; the exoskeleton was sufficiently armoured to block these but the limbs and abdomen could not cope. Gregor eventually sent his second tarsus into the beastly eye socket. He didn't find the heart but he pierced the brain. After a little seizure, the antagonist dropped dead.

Lord Greystoke also moved on a homunculus. It turned on him, raised its arms threateningly as it growled, then rushed Tarzan, who fleetingly dodged aside. The savage creature turned for its next attack only to find his groin stabbed and misplaced heart destroyed, he slumped to the floor.

A second homunculus rushed Tarzan, who backed of as the synthetic fury stretched out its arms for for a deathly embrace. The jungle lord threw his knife at the attacker, it embedded itself in the solar plexus. This stunned the homonculus for a brief second which was all Greystoke needed to rush the target; knock him off balance, seize the embedded knife and drive it home. Again Tarzan could determine the heart's location through mere observation; this one was pierced; the malformed horror dropped to the floor, his arms still outstretched.

The last being standing from the ape homonculi fight was one of the latter, it finished off the last Zinj ape then, despite receiving multiple bites and blows resulting in many fractures and gashes; it charged the three League members who stayed out of the conflict. Biggles, Mors and Irma fired their pistols, each pumping two shots into the bloodied abomination; it slumped and, after a brief growling protest, went silent as it moved no more.

"You three are lucky." Said Tarzan. "One of you by chance hit the randomly placed heart."

"That elevator could have brought more of those fiends here." Stated Mors. "But it didn't"

Biggles added. "I think Totenkopf has run out of homunculi."

Irma spat. "Then we should be able to get him and kill him."

All League members got into the elevator and traveled to the volcano bed. Five seconds after leaving the lift, the find themselves being approached by six tall metal monstrosities. These figures marched like well disciplined soldiers, to the League they appeared to be men in highly industrialised suits of armour; their steps sounded like factory machinery, the articulating arms like hydraulic cranes. The heads looked like Easter Island statues with antennae that appeared to be radio ariels. There approach seemed very threatening.

Mors fired a pistol shot at the figures but the bullet just bounced off the metal hulks and subsequent shot were equally ineffective.

A sphere, slightly bigger than a basketball, rolled between the marching metal legs then exploded in a way that spat out electrical energy instead of destructive force. The metal figures stopped right then and there, two collapsed forward, one fell sidewards into his team members, knocking them aside like a domino effect. After many thuds of metal crashing against the ground, there was silence as the League looked at each other in mutual bafflement.

"What the hell was that ball." Asked Irma while not expecting an explanation from her equally bewildered companions.

"An electomagnetic pulse bomb." Answered an unseen yet familiar voice. "Those metal figures were mechanical men, lethal automatons sent to destroy you all, they are the product of some brilliant electrical engineering."

Tom Swift appeared around the corner carrying a remote control. "And my bomb has destroyed their electrical systems, now they are all piles of junk."


	48. Chapter 48

**Chapter 48**

All League members greeted and praised Tom Swift as their savior. Now they were all together again, the idea of throwing a spanner in Totenkopf's works was discussed.

"That may not be necessary." Said Tom. "The doctor has ceased all contribution to the war effort. This was announced after the homunculi fields were destroyed along with the super zeppelin. The military presence in this complex is shipping out as we speak."

"That means our mission has already succeeded." Said Tarzan.

"No." Bellowed Biggles.

"Not yet." Added Mors.

"We must kill Totenkopf." Screeched Irma.

Gregor articulated his limbs in agreement.

"Glad to hear it." Said a voice with a Danish accent.

A lab coated scientist appeared from around the corner.

"Everyone." Said Tom. "This man helped me with the electro-magnetic pulse bomb. His name is Dr."

"Kraft." Everyone cut in.

The Danish scientist had been secretly informed by Tom of the odd assembly of personages that arrived on the island. Gregor was no surprise to him as he had seen the insect man carted away on a gurney. Kraft had seen the spaceship he built fly to and return from Mars; what he was told of the red planet's inhabitants, did not prepare him for the sight of the League. They were a jar of mixed oddities.

"You know me?" He asked.

Mors answered. "Your kidnapping prompted the formation of this League."

"So your here to eliminate Totenkopf as well as rescuing me?" Inquired Kraft.

Irma answered. "He has done unspeakably bad things in the name of science and so must be dealt with."

Biggles added. "He has a God complex and a heightened scientific skill to justify it, thus he will create the world anew. It is frightening to imagine how everyone's lives will be changed under his shadow."

Mors continued. "Sounds like, even if the war would end tomorrow, Totenkopf will soon establish a new world order policed by automatons and maybe even a new breed of homunculi. No he must not proceed unchecked."

Tarzan finished. "We must get to him."

"I know the way to him." Announced Kraft.

Everyone moved into the elevator as per Kraft's directions, he took it up to a high floor then led the League down a corridor.

Tom asked Biggles about the rocket trip. The pilot gave a brief account of the ride while thanking the lad for the tool, acknowledging Stalhein and Gregor as his co-saviors. The subsequent co-operation Tom gave to Totenkopf was explained as a way to get familiar with his works and advanced science; also it was in return for a promise not to vivisect Gregor. Irma informed Tom that the mad doctor had no intention of keeping that promise, she rescued the insect man from being thus butchered in the name of science. Gregor articulated his limbs in agreement.

"That bastard." Uttered Tom.

"There is no humanity in that fiend." Said Irma. "People are just lab rats to him."

Kraft opened a door to a dimly lit museum. All League members were fascinated by the exhibits. A huge dinosaur skeleton dominated the floor.

"It's an Iguanodon." Said the Dane. "One of many prehistoric species Totenkopf has brought back from extinction. There are living ones in the swamp."

A sculpture of Adam and Eve encoiled by the serpent, faced the dinosaur. It showed Adam reaching up to the tree of knowledge for the forbidden fruit.

Another skeleton appeared in a glass casing, it was roughly human, only half the size and with outspread wings.

"It's an angel." Despaired Biggles. "The bastard killed an angel."

Mors added. "No wonder he has a God complex."

"Looks like he has killed a devil too." Said Irma as she pointed at a large glass casing. The figure inside was a tall robust humanoid with the head of a bull, complete with horns.

"That's a minotour." Announced Mors.

"Is it a sculpture?" Asked Tom.

"No. It's stuffed." Answered Mors.

All members of the League juggled explanations, in their minds, for this exhibit. Did Totenkopf summon a demon then kill and taxidermied it; or did he locate or reproduce a man bull from Greek myth then do likewise?

"The office doors are here." Snapped Kraft.

Everyone's attention shifted to a well lit foyer with two large golden doors, each had a giant Tesla coil by their hinges.

"Totenkopf is in here." Whispered Kraft. "Let's go."

Dr Kraft was way ahead of the League, he rushed the doors to open them, stepping on a metal floor plate at their feet.

"No doctor." Yelled Tom.

The Tesla coils buzzed into swift activity and each spat out synthetic lightning at the rushing presence in between them. When they met, Kraft was there; he stiffened then was instantly burnt and sublimated into a skeleton which fell down to the floor and smashed apart.

Lightning continued to emanate from the coils; it got wider and thicker, until the doorway became a screen where an image of Totenkopf's face appeared.

"Who dares come before me?" Blared the Totenkopf image in a deep foreboding voice. "Who dares enter this place? What has begun cannot be stopped."

An imperfect stream of lightning blurred the next line. The League assembled in front of the loud image to hear its testimony.

"I have been witness to a world consumed by hatred and bent on self-destruction. Watched as we have taken what was to be a paradise and failed in our responsibilities as its steward. I know now that the course the human race has set for itself cannot be changed. I am the last, desperate chance for a doomed planet."

Tom tore a wire out of the left Tesla coil base. Both coils powered down, switching the loud image off.

"Is it safe now?" Asked Biggles.

"Throw something onto the metal floor plate. " Instructed Tom.

Biggles took out his pistol and tossed it gently onto the lethal surface. Nothing happened.

It was Captain Mors who personally stepped forward and opened the golden doors. His understanding of physics gave him confidence in the deadly fields nullification.

Two large statues under a bright ceiling dome demanded the League's attention when they entered the room. They were each of men in togas: one was crouched forward showing a letterbox slot in his hollow cranium; the other was upright and holding a brain in the palm of his hand. The extracted organ was either an offering to the Gods which the bearer was looking up to, or he was thanking his creators for the divine gift of intelligence.

Blue lampshades filtered a dim light in the office. Full bookcases dominated one wall, metal shutters another. A large painting shared wall space with the bookcase, it was a reproduction of Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam.

There were several mahogany desks covered with notes on them; Totenkopf was behind one of them with his back to the shutters. Irma could smell a lingering faintness of the fear gas. It was too weak to affect anyone, but it had been dispensed in this office. The gas cylinder was on the mad doctor's desk, with its nozzle turned off.

A lamp turned on, it illuminated Totenkopf, who was seated wearing a crimson dressing gown. A rolled up piece of parchment rested in his hand. He was shivering in fear, not of the League that approached him, but of some vision the gas generated in his head.

"Hello Doctor." Greeted Mors in German.

Several more greetings followed in various languages and tones.

Biggles slammed his hand on the desk. "Do you still justify what you do; the misery, the monstrosities your brilliance makes?"

"Totenkopf half offered the pilot the parchment in his hand. "I have just had the worst visions imaginable." He stuttered in English. The fear gas had worked its effect on him.

"They were horrible." Totenkopf continued stuttering. "It was me in the next rocket; with the G-force bursting my blood veins inside me."

He turned to Irma. "It was me having those cruel volts of electricity surge through my body."

Next he faced Tarzan. "I was set upon by savage homunculi I had created, and was bodily torn apart."

The chair swiveled so he faced Gregor. "I was the poor creature in the science lab getting vivisected."

Mors was the next figure he turned to. "Fire in the sky and I started it with my rockets. The flames whooshed down to Earth and incinerated our world. They could not facilitate a new beginning on the World of Tomorrow; all they did was destroy the world we had."

Totenkopf got up off his chair and grasped Tom's arms. "Tom, you have a brilliant mind. Do not become like me. This world is all we have, you must look after it."

Tom gave a positive assurance to the stuttering doctor who then sat back in his chair.

To the League this was someone quite different from the loud image in the lightning screen.

Irma stated. "He will revert to his former wicked self as soon as the gas induced fear passes."

Biggles added. "Maybe he already has."

"Tomorrow." Yelled Totenkopf without stuttering.

The doctor reached one hand under the desk while the hand holding the parchment moved towards a button. To everyone, he was either reaching for a weapon under the desk or about to raise an alarm and summon further monstrosities, be they either mechanical or homunculi.

Three guns were drawn and went off simultaneously sending a deadly payload into the crimson dressing gown. Totenkopf died then and there still clutching the parchment; the impacts sent the swivel around one hundred and eighty degrees. Totenkopf faced the shutters now. Biggles, Irma and Mors put away their smoking pistols, each certain the doctor was dead.

Tom probed the surface under the desk. "There is no weapon down there, nor any button. The hand was on his knee, he was attending to an itch."

"And what of this button he was openly reaching for." Asked Biggles.

"I recognise that type of button." Answered Tom. "It is not an alarm or a summons.

"Watch." Tom pressed the button. The shutters opened revealing a full view of the volcano's interior. Another press of the button closed the shutters.

Biggles took the rolled up parchment from Totenkopf's hand. It had only two words written down. _Forgive me_.

The parchment was rolled up again and placed back into Totenkopf's dead hand, then the lamp was turned off.

"What do we do now?" Inquired Tom.

"We leave and go home." Answered Biggles. "We're done here."

"The _Luftpirat_ can pick us up outside." Said Mors.

"Let's go."


	49. Chapter 49

**Chapter 49**

Modestino D'ara inspected the ruptured form that had sparks emanating from its chassis, a metal body made to resemble a woman. Multiple bullet impacts had shredded one side of her black clothing. It was the fall from a catwalk above that dealt most of the damage though.

Her face had a beauty to it, smeared by the eye shadow. It would be a pity to dump her into a junk pile. The limbs would occasionally move as a jolt reaction to electrical disturbances in her damaged circutry, he even spotted an eyelid move once.

"Can you repair her?" Said a nearby voice.

A look up revealed the frazzle haired scientist known as the Future Man; he had his leather gloves and apron on.

Modestino answered. "She is way too complex a creation for me to fathom. My creations work differently than her."

The Future Man stared widely at the maker of mechanical men. "You can assist me in fixing her though. You will learn much through the procedure."

"You might mean totally rebuild her."

"Nonsense." Said the aproned figure. "She will be needed with the likeness she has. The doctor wishes it. Once functional again she will diligently supervise the scientists that remain until his grand vision is completed."

"They will follow her orders?" Asked Modestino.

"Why yes. Totenkopf has already introduced her to the senior scientists and workers as his proxy. That is why she must be fully repaired."

Modestino stared at the wide-eyed scientist whose skill was way more advanced than his.

"Will they know that she is a mechanical creation?"

"No, of course not. That is exactly why we must do the best job possible on her."

Another look down at the sparking, jolting figure revealed an eyelid closing again, only this time it looked wicked.


	50. Chapter 50

**Chapter 50**

The rendezvous point with the _Luftpirat_ was near, yet the League stopped for a rest. They had left the volcano without meeting any of the remaining staff and traversed a measure of the island without running into any resident horrors. Some eohippi did run across their path and miniature homunculi could be seen on their backs.

"I don't think we're finished here yet." Said Tom.

"Totenkopf is dead." Replied Mors. "The foul war production has ceased."

Biggles added. "Thus our mission is a complete success."

"But the complex is intact." Said Tom. "The industrial capability of this place could continue and produce God knows what."

"Without Totenkopf." Uttered Irma. "This place will wind down. Anyone who remains will steal themselves away."

Tarzan added. "Done all we need to do."

Gregor articulated his limbs in what everyone felt was jubilation.

"Our friend Gregor will talk one day." Announced Biggles. "When we get back, I will have M place him under the personal tuition of England's top elocutionist, Professor Henry Higgins."

Insect limbs waved in extra happy anticipation.

The _Luftpirat_ had lowered down to a clearing and deployed its gangplank. All members of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen traveled the last few steps to the clearing, and one by one walked up the ramp.

Tom let himself be last. He pondered the possibility of this complex achieving its end purpose. He had observed it from within and watched it achieve a great degree of automation. It could continue doing a lot of things.

"The rocket." Tom thought to himself. "Could they actually perfect and complete the ark rocket without Totenkopf? Could they launch it for an interplanetary exodus, with two of every animal, to the World of Tomorrow?"

Biggles yelled. "Come on Tom. We're all waiting for you."

He began his ascent up the ramp slowly, still lost in thought. Some ominous words from Jorge Vargas came to his memory.

"This whole complex is Totenkopf, every wire, every gear."

Tom looked back at the volcano before completing his ascent. The machines were still running, the electronics still buzzing, he could hear them.

"We're raising the gangplank now Tom." Said Mors.

The boy snapped out of his bleak concerns and quickly finished his trip up the gangplank into the _Luftpirat_.

As soon as the airship cleared the island, Lindo popped open several bottles of champagne and handed flute glasses among the League and a bowl for Gregor. The sparkling liquid filled the vessels and Biggles raised his glass for a toast to the League's success.

A framed photograph of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, including Tom, was presented to the jubilant group. Tom put aside his concerns about Totenkopf's legacy. After a few sips of the bubbly drink he lost himself in the revelry.

"Now there is only one more thing to do." Announced Biggles. "Get on the radio and tell M the good news."

 **THE END**


	51. Appendix

**APPENDIX**

This novel has another cornucopia of characters borrowed from literature,film and comics. My former novel The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen 1766 has many, but this one has even more. A lot of storytelling was done before,during and after WW1, filling this period with a vast ensemble of ficticious personages; many, but not all, form the tapestry of this narrative. There are several places mentioned in this tapestry that are just as ficticious as the characters.

 **Characters**

 **Biggles** The White Fokker W. E. Johns

 **Tarzan** Tarzan of the Apes Edgar Rice Burroughs

 **Captain Mors** The Pirate of the Air and his Navigable Airship Anonymous

 **Irma Vep** Les Vampires (Film Serial) Louis Feulliade

 **Gregor Samsa** Metamorphosis Franz Kafka

 **Tom Swift** Tom Swift (Book Series) Victor Appleton (Edward Stratemeyer)

 **Totenkopf** Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow (Film) Kerry Conran

 **Paul Baumer** All Quiet on the Western Front Erich Maria Remarque

 **Tjaden** All Quiet on the Western Front Erich Maria Remarque

 **Ernst Birkolz** The Road Back Erich Maria Remarque

 **Alfred Matzerath** The Tin Drum Gunter Grass

 **Andreas Kragler** Distant Drums (Play) Bertold Brecht

 **Hans Hubermann** The Book Thief Markus Zusak

 **Martin Hessler** Battle of the Bulge (Film) Ken Annakin

 **Richard Hannay** The Thirty-Nine Steps John Buchan

 **Mycroft Holmes (M)** The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter Arthur Conan Doyle

 **Sir Robert Morton** The Winslow Boy (Play) Terence Rattigan

 **Ashenden** The Hairless Mexican W. Somerset Maugham

 **Baron Munchausen** The Adventures of Baron Munchausen Rudolf Erich Raspe

 **Mina Murray** Dracula Bram Stoker

 **Phrynne Fischer** Phrynne Fischer (Book Series) Kerry Greenwood

 **Stalhein** The White Fokker W E Johns

 **Major John Gresham** Aces High (Film) Howard Barker

 **Charlie Allnutt** The African Queen C. S. Forester

 **Paul D'Arnot** Tarzan of the Apes Edgar Rice Burroughs

 **Captain Brieux** Island at the Top of the World (Film) John Whedon

 **Homunculus** Homunculus (Film Serial) Otto Rippert

 **Captain Zuppner** Tarzan at the Earth's Core Edgar Rice Burroughs

 **Captain von Gorian** Zeppelin (Film) Donald Churchill Arthur Rowe

 **Orlac** The Hands of Orlac Maurice Renard

 **Rittmeister von Raffenstein** Le Grand Illusion (Film) Jean Renoir

 **Baron von Klugermann** The Blue Max Jack D. Hunter

 **Baron von Emmelmann** Airboy (Comic) Charles Biro

 **(aka The Heap)**

 **Hans von Hammer** Enemy Ace (Comic) Robert Kanigher

 **Phantom F. Harlock** Arcadia of my Youth (Film) Leiji Matsumoto

 **Baroness Klugermann** The Blue Max Jack D. Hunter

 **Baroness Sandorff** L'Argent (Film) Marcel Le Herbier

 **Friedrich von Shoenvorts** The Land that Time Forgot Edgar Rice Burroughs

 **Karl Heinrich von** **Altberg Ehrenstein** **n** The Temple H. P. Lovecraft

 **Fu Manchu** The Deadly Doctor Sax Rohmer

 **The Licorice Kid** Judex (Film Serial) Louis Feulliade

 **Judex** Judex (Film Serial) Louis Feulliade

 **Jim Albright** Captain Midnight (Radio Serial) Wilfred G. Moore, Robert M. Burtt

 **Kent Allard** The Shadow Walter B. Gibson

 **Clark Savage** Doc Savage Kenneth Robeson

 **Waldo Pepper** The Great Waldo Pepper (Film) George Roy Hill, William Goldman

 **Clayton Andrews** Zoya Danielle Steele

 **Jedidiah Leland** Citizen Kane (Film) Herman j. Mankiewicz, Orson Welles

 **Maciste** Maciste the Warrior Giovanni Pastrone

 **Rose Dawson** Titanic (Film) James Cameron

 **Norma Desmond** Sunset Boulevard (Film) Billy Wilder, Charles Brackett

 **Julio Desnoyers** Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse Vicente Blasco Ibanez

 **Dr Antonius Phibes** The Abomjnable Dr Phibes (Film) Robert Fuest

 **Baby Jane** Whatever Happened to Baby Jane Henry Farell

 **Dr Caligari & Cesare** The Cabinet of Dr Caligarii (Film) Hans Janowitz, Carl Mayer

 **Maigret** Maigret (Book Series) Georges Simenon

 **Dr Rossum** R.U.R. Rossum's Universal Robots (Play) Karel Capek

 **Cuthbert Calculus** Tintin (Comics) Herge

 **Jorge Vargas** Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow Kerry Conran

 **Dr Kraft** Himmelskibet (Film) Sophus Michaelis

 **Fraulien Doktor** Fraulein Doktor (Film) Alberto Lattuada

 **Lindo** The Pirate of the Air and his Navigable Airship Anonymous

 **Izzy Buttons** The Mummy Returns (Film) Stephen Sommers

 **Monk Mayfair** Doc Savage Kenneth Robeson

 **Paul Carruthers** The Devil Bat (Film) George Bricker

 **Jonathon Crane** Batman (Comics) Bob Kane

 **Aka: The Scarecrow**

 **Dr Mabuse** Dr Mabuse: The Gambler Norbert Jacques

 **Franz Biberkopf** Berlin Alexanderplatz Alfred Doblin

 **Max Grundeis** Emil and the Detectives Erich Kastner

 **Hans Beckert** M (Film) Fritz Lang, Thea von Harbou

 **Hans Morrier** Spies (Film) Fritz Lang, Thea von Harbou

 **Ivan Dragomiloff** The Assassination Bureau Jack London

 **Phillipe Guerande** Les Vampires (Film Serial) Louis Feulliade

 **Dr John Dolittle** The Story of Dr Dolittle Hugh Lofting

 **Rupert** Rupert Bear (Comic) Mary Tourtel

 **Dr Moreau** The Island of Dr Moreau H. G. Wells

 **Tigger** The House at Pooh Corner A. A. Milne

 **Ulysses Paxton** The Mastermind of Mars Edgar Rice Burroughs

 **James Gatz** The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald

 **Eddie Bartlett** The Roaring Twenties (Film) Raoul Walsh

 **Korak** The Son of Tarzan Edgar Rice Burroughs

 **Joe Bonham** Johnny got his Gun Dalton Trumbo

 **Ned Trimble** Forever and a Day (Film) Multiple Authors

 **Aron Trask** East of Eden John Steinbeck

 **Quirt** What Price Glory (Play) Maxwell Anderson, Laurence Stallings

 **Mark** Harlem Hellfighters Max Brooks

 **Vernon Waters** A Soldier's Story (Film) Charles Fuller

 **Captain Flagg** What Price Glory (Play) Maxwell Anderson, Laurence Stallings

 **G8** G8 and his Battle Aces Robert J. Hogan

 **Hugo Drummond** Bulldog Drummond H. C. McNeile

 **Jack Powell** Wings (Film) John Monk Saunders

 **Tristan Ludlow** Legends of the Fall Jim Harrison

 **Hank Coughlin** Tom Swift (Book Series) Victor Appleton (Edward Stratemeyer)

 **Anthony Rogers** Armaggedon 2419 AD Philip Francis Nowlan

 **Aka: Buck Rogers**

 **Jason Gridley** Tanar of Pellucider Edgar Rice Burroughs

 **Ned Newton** Tom Swift (Book Series) Victor Appleton (Edward Stratemeyer)

 **Benjamin Button** The Curious Case of Benjamin Button F. Scott Fitzgerald

 **Daddy Warbucks** Little Orphan Annie (Comic) James Whitcomb Riley

 **Sgt. Himmelstoss** All Quiet on the Western Front Erich Maria Remarque

 **Philip Carey** Of Human Bondage W. Somerset Maughm

 **James Darmody** Boardwalk Empire (TV Series) Terence Winter

 **Jim Apperson** The Big Parade Laurence Stallings

 **Herbert West** Herbert West - Re-animator H. P. Lovecraft

 **Ted Brautigan** Hearts in Atlantis Stephen King

 **Sylvia Scarlett** The Early Life and Adventures of Sylvia Scarlett Compton MacKenzie

 **Sexton Blake** The Missing Millionaire Harry Blythe

 **Albert Narracot** Warhorse Michael Morpurgo

 **Tom Grattan** Tom Grattan's War Michael Deakin

 **Hercule Poroit** The Mysterious Affair at Styles Agatha Christie

 **J. G. Reader** Room 13 Edgar Wallace

 **Hans Zarkoff** Flash Gordon (Comic) Alex Raymond

 **Mstsislav Los** Aleita: Queen of Mars Alexei Tolstoy

 **Professor Kokintz** Mouse on the Moon Leonard Wibberley

 **Georg Mannfelt** Woman on the Moon (Film) Fritz Lang, Thea von Harbou

 **Dr Tube** The Madness of Dr Tube (Film) Abel Gance

 **Gumnut Babies** Snugglepot and Cuddlepie May Gibbs

 **Jakob ten Brinken** Alraune Hans Heinz Ewers

 **Alraune** Alraune Hans Heinz Ewers

 **Hans Vergerus** The Serpent's Egg (Film) Ingmar Bergman

 **Professor Maxon** The Monster Men Edgar Rice Burroughs

 **Houyhnhnm & Yahoo** Gulliver's Travels Jonathon Swift

 **Harry Haller** Steppenwolf Hermann Hesse

 **The Future Man** Metropolis (Film) Fritz Lang, Thea von Harbou

 **Aka Rotwang**

 **Robot Woman** Metropolis (Film) Fritz Lang, Thea von Harbou

 **Loren Hardeman** The Betsy Harold Robbins

 **Modestino D'ara** The Mechanical Man (Film) Andre Deed

 **Professor Henry Higgins** Pygmalion (Play) George Bernard Shaw

This novel also includes in its tapestry several locations that are also ficticious.

 **The Duchy of** **Grand Fenwick** The Mouse that Roared Leonard Wibberley

 **Ruritania** The Prisoner of Zenda Anthony Hope

 **Lutha** The Mad King Edgar Rice Burroughs

 **Puddleby on the Marsh** The Story of Dr Dolittle Hugh Lofting

 **The World of Tomorrow** Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow Kerry Conran

 **Zinj** Congo Michael Crichton

 **Shangri-La** The Lost Horizon James Hilton

A couple of ficticious items also show up in this story

 **Jade scorpion** Curse of the Jade Scorpion (Film) Woody Allen

 **Heat Ray** War of the Worlds H. G. Wells


End file.
